The Heart of a Healer
by Tangelian Proudfoot
Summary: Non-slash Frodo angst fic, slightly AU. When a half elven messenger with a hidden gift crosses the path of the remaining members of the fellowship on their way home, it will lead to a major change of her route... Neither a Mary Sue nor a romance.
1. The Messenger and her Horse

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
***  
  


  
Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
English is not my mother tongue, and this is my first fan fic ever, so please be kind if my grammar is not '00% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
See my bio for further information on this story.  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs to all of my proof readers!  
  
  
  


***  
  
  


  
**1. The Messenger and her Horse**  
  
She pulled her cloak more tightly around her, shivering a little, and took a small sip from the cup clasped in her hands. The warm liquid felt soothing going down her throat, preventing the cold from creeping into her very bones.  
Heavy clouds shielded the sun, and a cold, damp wind blew from the north. The grass and the few remaining leaves of the trees were all covered in moisture.  
  
She sighed slightly and moved a little closer to her small campfire, trying to warm her hands. She had to be on her way soon; the weather was turning foul again, and she must make it to the woodlands before the evening fell upon her. Two days ago, another storm had forced her to seek shelter long  
before the sunset, and she could not allow herself to become further delayed. If her messages were not delivered on time, she would most likely be punished. As a messenger, she was under the protection of the council of her village, and if someone laid hands on her, he would indeed suffer the consequences of his crime. But it was also the village elders who made up the rules for her, and if she broke them, there was always the risk that they would relieve her of her duties and send her away to live in the forest as an outlaw.  
  
***  
  
In a sense, she already was an outlaw. No one knew who her real parents were; her human foster parents, an elderly couple with no children of their own, had found her in the forest as a newborn child, and there had been signs of a battle of some kind nearby, but they had seen no traces of other humans.  
  
Growing up in a small village, she'd soon become aware of how different she was from the others. Her vision was sharper, her ears could hear sounds that no one else seemed to pick up, she needed very little sleep to feel rested, and her movements were swifter and lighter than most other people's. She also appeared to age slowly, and she'd not been fully grown until she reached her thirties, though she'd always been a bit taller than people of her age.  
  
Another thing that was curious about her was her talent for singing, which seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, since neither her foster parents nor any of their friends had possessed any skills in music. She, on the other hand, had always had tunes and melodies playing inside her head, and no matter whether  
she felt happy or sad, she had a song for every occasion.  
  
Naturally, others had also been aware that there was something strange about her. She'd never had many friends, though most of the people of her village treated her with respect and kindness. Outsiders, however, had often seemed suspicious of her, for reasons she'd not been able to understand. Many times it had almost felt like people were afraid of her. At times she'd even thought that she could sense this fear in her own foster parents, especially in her foster father, though they'd always treated her like she was their own daughter.  
  
She'd always had a good hand with animals though. No matter what kind they were, they all appeared to adore her, from their very first meeting. Cats purred, nestling themselves around her legs, and urged her to stroke them; dogs threw themselves down in front of her so she could scratch their bellies, and even the wildest horse behaved like a gentle lamb when she was near.  
  
Of course, she'd often wondered about her origin and her real parents. Did they abandon her? Or were they dead? What had they really been like, and looked like?  
But she was well aware that those were questions that never, ever would be answered.  
  
Since her foster father had worked as a message sender and receiver for the village council, it hadn't been unusual for strangers from all over the country to visit their house. Curious of the outside world, she'd sometimes hid herself in the kitchen pantry, trying to observe the visitor through a small peep hole in the wall, and figure out what kind of messages he was delivering.  
  
But one evening, when she'd happened to be the one closest to the door, and therefore answered the knock, she'd found a very odd-looking man standing outside. She'd never seen anyone who even distantly resembled him. He'd been very tall and slender---so tall that he'd had to bow down a bit to fit in under the roof. He'd had long, thick black hair; the fringe loosely twined into two braids, sealed with blue glass pearls. His skin had been white and fair, and he'd had big and almost stunningly blue eyes, and a beautiful, masculine face with high cheekbones. He'd looked young, but yet... wise and composed, in a way that had somehow made him appear much older.  
  
Though he'd obviously been traveling far, his clothing, a cloak of an unusually beautiful fabric that almost seemed to change colour from green to brown to dark grey as he moved, had hardly been stained at all. A sturdy bow had hung over his left shoulder, decorated in a beautiful detailed pattern of leaves and branches.  
  
For a moment, she had just stood there, frozen, looking at him with wide eyes.  
He'd spoken to her in a melodic, almost singing voice, asking for her father. Wincing, she'd finally been able to take her eyes from him and hurried into her foster father's study. As soon as her foster father had made it to the door, she'd quietly slipped into the kitchen and the pantry, her eye against the peep hole.  
  
The stranger now stood in the hallway. Suddenly she'd noticed something else about him and had almost had to suppress a gasp. His ears... they didn't look... they'd reminded her of a cross between the ears of an animal and a human; slightly pointed, but yet, very delicate... like the shape of a leaf...  
  
She'd felt herself strangely drawn to him, but on the other hand, he'd frightened her. She'd wanted to know everything about him---who he was and why he had come. For a moment, she'd realised, it had felt almost if he had come for her... there'd been such a strange air about him, but yet... something that had felt... very familiar, in a sense, like something she'd always known, but yet, never seen. She'd been able to hear her heart pounding when she'd pressed herself against the wall, trying to figure out what the stranger had on his heart. Despite her sharp ears she'd not been able to make out every word they were saying. It had appeared, however, that the stranger had been concerned about something that had to do with the travelers of the North and East Roads. He'd brought no written messages, but he'd asked many questions. Had the numbers of messengers dropping by increased during the later years? What were their errands? Had her foster father noticed anything strange about them?  
  
Gradually, her foster father's voice had grown louder, and it had been obvious that he was becoming suspicious of the messenger and wanted him to leave as soon as possible. Yes, he'd confirmed that the numbers of messengers had increased lately, but also the variety of their errands. He'd not been  
able to tell if anyone had been acting strange or not.  
  
She'd never seen her foster father act that way before. Steady as a rock, the villagers used to call him. He had never lost an argument, and she'd thought that nothing in the world could ever frighten him. Yet it was obvious that he'd been downright scared of the man in front of him.  
  
"Now," he'd said, annoyance in his voice, "I can understand your concern and I appreciate it. However, with all due respect, the only true stranger who has entered this house during my years in the service is you, young man. And I beg your pardon, but it is getting late, and therefore, I beg you to go. You have nothing to do here. We people of the Chetwood are perfectly able to defend ourselves, without any need of your witchcraft. Leave it for those of your own kind."  
  
Witchcraft? Her heart had now been beating so hard that she'd almost found it hard to breathe. Why did her foster father talk in such a manner?  
  
The stranger had given him a long and somewhat disappointed look. "Very well, he'd said, moving toward the door. "I am sorry, but we only wish you the best. As you are aware, we do not often speak with men, but this matter will be of utmost importance for both of our kinds, and we had hoped for a messenger alliance. However, your opinions are clear to us, and we will not disturb you again unless you change your mind with the passing of time. Farewell."  
  
Then the stranger had turned around and headed for the door.  
But when he'd passed by the outer wall of the pantry, he had lifted his eyes for a brief moment, looking straight at her, as if there had been no wall between them.  
  
Gasping, she had thrown herself at the pantry door without even giving a thought to the fact that her foster mother might have entered the kitchen while she was locked in. She'd run to the window just in time to see the stranger approaching his white steed, which had been waiting for him in the garden. With a swift leap he'd jumped up on his back and then they had taken off, galloping into the forest, his black hair flying in the wind. It was not until now that she had realised that the horse had neither had a saddle nor a bridle. The stranger had controlled him only by his sheer will.  
  
When the spell had passed, she had turned around slowly, to find her foster father standing behind her. "Father," she'd said in an almost whispering voice, "What... who was that?"  
  
"That, my child, was an elf... a strange kind of being, worshippers of witchcraft and wizardry, living in the depths of the forest," her foster father had answered in a low voice, unable to hide that he still felt a bit shaken. "They have no business around here, and this was hopefully the last time you will see one."  
  
But she had been unable to respond. Suddenly everything had fallen into place. Somehow, she had always known...  
  
"Father," she'd said after a few moments of silence, trying to keep her voice steady, "It is late now, and I think I had better go to bed."  
  
As soon as she'd entered her room and closed the door behind her, she had sunk down on her bed, gasping. She had then lifted a trembling hand, slowly brushing back her chestnut brown hair, and let her fingers follow the line of her ear.  
  
It could not be seen from a distance. But there was no doubt, she'd been able to feel it now, under her fingers _ a small edge, a sharp point before the ear turned downward again. Both ears were the same. Somehow, she had always known.  
  
Shortly thereafter she'd gradually became aware that she possessed another gift.  
It had all begun with her beloved cat falling ill. One day he had come home limping and in severe agony. However, no one had been able to find the real cause for the pain, and he'd just grown worse each minute. Finally, her foster father had told her that they had better put an end to his misery, allowing her a last moment alone with him. But when she had sat there, stroking the gasping, shivering cat huddled in her knee, her tears dripping down on his fur, a strange feeling had risen within her. Like a wave of compassion... so powerful that it almost had made her cringe in pain, rushing through her veins, all the way out to her fingertips... leaving a tingling sensation behind. And suddenly... an image had painted itself in front of her inner eye. There was a knot... a large, subcutaneous knot, filled with pus, pushing at the cat's abdomen...  
  
At her touch the cat had stirred, opening his eyes, and given her a demanding, yet utterly grateful look. It was obvious that his pain had already eased a little, and it had all felt so natural to her, like this was something she used to practice every day.  
But she had also known what she had left to do.  
Retrieving the largest needle she could find, she'd put her hands on the cat again, and without any hesitation, she'd applied the needle, feeling it penetrate his skin. It had been the very right spot, and the cat had not even winced. When she'd removed the needle again, pus had been trickling from the wound, soiling his fur and her dress. The cat had visibly relaxed at once, stroking himself against her hands in gratitude. Within a few hours he'd fully recovered.  
  
She had soon become aware that this new gift was not limited to animals. Observing messengers from her hiding place in the pantry, she'd often known what the person had on his mind even before he stated his errand, though she hadn't seen him before. And there had also been other things... if she closed her eyes for a moment and focused a bit, she was able to receive pictures... as if she'd opened up a peep hole right  
into his head. It had seemed that whatever weighed heaviest on the messenger's mind---even if it did not concern the message itself---generated the sharpest picture. Sometimes the pictures had been downright frightening, and they'd not always been easy to interpret. However, they had often been visions of his inner pain, concerns, and sufferings, and from the nature of the pictures, she'd also been able to tell if he was good or evil of heart.  
  
Most often, the vision had filled her with the most powerful feeling of compassion and a desire to lay her hands on the person; touching him, to help ease the pain.  
  
A few times she'd actually tried it with her foster parents, who were now getting old, and to her concern, more fragile with each passing year. She'd been able to reduce the pain in her foster mother's aching back on several occasions and often used her abilities to find out what was on her mind, but she'd been a little more careful with her foster father. He, as most of the other villagers, had always been skeptical about witchcraft and wizardry (which was, probably, the term he would use to describe these skills) and the thought of his own foster daughter using such methods would have been unbearable to him. She'd suspected though, that her foster mother had probably been aware that she possessed healing skills above the ordinary, but as usual, she'd kept quiet about it.  
  
She had never been afraid of her gift. Since she'd always known she was different, it was obvious that this was a skill she was meant to possess. She had tried to find out more about the elves and had often taken long walks or rides in the forest with her young horse, Trifas, but they'd never seen any traces of them.  
And since the books of the village library had nothing on the subject (which was not the least surprising) the stranger's visit a few years back was the only clue she had had to the nature of her ancestors.  
  
Another couple of years passed and by now she had realised that the elf's concern was probably justified. The number of messengers passing by their house *had* indeed increased, and she'd also felt that many of them were not always true of heart.  
She'd tried to warn her foster father about them, but he'd made it pretty clear that he didn't want her to have anything to do with his business.  
  
It had no longer been unusual for messengers to show up in the middle of the night. But one late evening in the early days of autumn, when her foster father had opened the door, a young man, fair of face but ragged and dirty, had been standing outside, huddled in the cold breeze. She'd been standing in the hallway too, and she had known from the very first glimpse of him that he wasn't a messenger. "What's your errand, stranger?" her foster father had asked in a stern voice.  
  
"Dear Sir..." the man had answered in a thin voice. "I know it's late, and that you are a busy man... but I need a place to stay for the night, and-"  
  
"Well," her foster father had interrupted, hands on his hips, "I'm a message receiver, not an innkeeper. The inn is further down the road."  
  
For a moment the man had lifted his eyes, and they had wandered from her to her foster father and back again. "Please, he'd begged, with an almost desperate look in his eyes, I have no money, but I don't ask for food, nor a bed... just a place on your floor by the fire, and just for the night..."  
  
At the very same moment, a series of images had rushed through her mind, visions so powerful and dark that her world had reeled, and she'd had to use all her strength to keep her legs from giving way underneath her. A fire... a bad fire... a young woman, an infant on her arm... screaming... no, it is too late... his hands breaking the window, blood running down his arms... cannot reach... a collapsing roof, the flames consuming everything... her hair, like a torch... and then... darkness. And suddenly, the Sea under a dark sky... waves throwing themselves against a great wall, desperate to get over... and so, finally, a knife, the blade shining in the moonlight, aiming straight at his own heart...  
  
A wave of compassion had risen in her body, so strong that she'd almost been sick. This man was not so much in need of a warm fire as he was for human company...  
  
"Please, the man had repeated in a quivering voice.  
  
"Father, she'd said, meeting his eyes. "Why can't we...?"  
  
Her foster father had taken a deep breath, scratching the back of his head as if he was going to change his mind, but then he'd put his hands back on his hips again, and she'd known that the argument was lost. "Look here, he'd said to the stranger. "There are countless people knocking on this door every day. If I was supposed to house everyone, I wouldn't even have enough food to keep my family alive, and if you let one in, then there'll soon be another and another. Now, please leave before I need to use other methods."  
  
"Of course, Sir, the man had said. "My apologies. I will leave now."  
  
Without another word he had pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, turning around and disappearing into the darkness. Her foster father had closed the door behind him and turned around, facing her. He'd winced when he'd seen the tears running down her cheeks. "What's the matter, child?" he'd asked. "Having feelings for a tramp, a stranger?"  
  
"But father," she'd sobbed, "can't you see he's suffering? He just needed company, someone to talk to... can't you see that? Please... please, go after him, tell him to come back!"  
  
Her foster father had sighed. "My child," he'd continued, "that man could have been anyone, a burglar, an assassin... letting a stranger into your house can be downright dangerous! You can't tell what kind of person he is just by looking at him-"  
  
"Yes!" she'd yelled, unable to hide her emotions now. "You can indeed! And if you're not going after him, *I* will!"  
  
With that, she'd torn down her cloak from the hanger, and had just been about to slip out through the door when her foster father had grabbed her by her collar and stopped her. "Young lass," he'd said, "what is this now, are you out of your mind?! What has gotten into you, going out in the dark–don't you realise you'll be killed?! I don't know where you're getting these wild ideas from, but no one is going out there tonight, *neither* you nor me. It's not that cold outside, he'll survive! And that's the last word I'll hear about it!"  
  
Sobbing, she'd sunk down by the door, hiding her face in her hands. She had known there was no use to argue anymore, but she'd also known that something terrible was about to happen.  
Her foster mother had come to her, talking to her in a soothing voice, helping her to her bedroom, asking her to forget about the man, but she had known...  
  
Finally she'd fallen asleep, haunted by dark dreams. Early in the morning she had woken up from a knock on the door and listened when her father answered it. Two men had been standing outside, and she'd heard them talking in the hallway. "Do you recognise this man?" one of them had asked in a serious voice, and she'd heard him open the door a little wider.  
  
"We found him by the borders of your land, the other one had filled in. "It appears that he has killed himself."  
  
The news had been hard even on her foster father. However, as soon as he'd come to his senses, he'd taken out his anger on her instead, accusing her of possessing witchcraft and of cooperating with the dark forces of the world. He'd forbidden her to ever use that tool of the devil again. Naturally, she'd been  
inconsolable, accusing herself for what had happened. The man had just needed someone to talk to...  
  
And she'd come to a decision. She would never, ever use her abilities on a human being again.  
  
At first it had seemed very hard to control herself. For a couple of months, she'd spent most of her time with Trifas, riding in the forest, and she'd avoided the pantry, though she had felt it frustrating to be cut off from the outside world. Then gradually, she'd realised that if she didn't look at the messenger directly and avoided his eyes, she was indeed able to restrain herself and just listen to what he had to say.  
  
It had all seemed to be a matter about focus. Focus... When she closed her eyes, thinking about the word, she'd always envisioned that elf, tensing his bowstring, aiming... the arrow whistling through the air, finding its target. Some of the messengers of the village had actually been carrying bows when they rode out, but she had never seen them use them.  
  
One day, when she'd done some cleaning up in the stable, she'd found an old bow, probably left by a messenger who had temporarily housed his horse there. Riding to the neighbour village fair, (where she had known few would recognise her) she'd also been able to find some arrows, and as soon as she'd gotten home again, she had started practicing. As she'd suspected, she already had a talent for it---she'd known right away how to hold the bow, and even though her arrows hadn't always hit their intended targets in the beginning, they'd been fairly close, and she had a straight aim, as well as a steady hand. Within a few weeks she'd even mastered moving targets, and she was also now capable of shooting from horseback, galloping.  
  
It had all been a secret, of course. But one early morning, her foster father had somehow, without her noticing, sneaked up behind her when she'd just been about to engage herself in an exercise of long distant target practicing. To her surprise, he had not been angry with her, as she had expected him to be. He'd just sighed, but had admitted it was a good thing for a young woman who spent so much time in the forest to be able to defend herself.  
  
By now, she'd known that she was now considered a young woman, who was soon supposed to find a suitable man to marry. But she had absolutely dreaded the thought. Marriage would mean attaching herself to someone, and most likely, that someone would also control and restrain her, far worse than her foster father had ever done. That would mean no more forest expeditions with Trifas---just staying at home, taking care of the chores... She'd known that many of the village men had considered her beautiful, but queer, and she had also known that most of them would be unable to understand her, and to love her for the one she truly was. She'd avoided the subject whenever it came up, but one evening, her foster father had confronted her and told her that he'd found a very suitable husband for her, a man from a neighbouring village. Reluctantly, she'd eventually agreed to meet him.  
  
He had been tall and slender, with bright eyes and a short beard... however, there had been something else about him... something she'd been unable to put her finger on...  
  
She had hesitated for a moment before she made her decision, and met his eyes, holding them for a moment. And the visions had been flowing. Red flashes against a dark sky... a stallion, the beautiful mane dancing in the wind... a desire to... fists, clenched fists... the deep, brown eyes, suddenly frightened now, a blow, than again, and another, and now the stallion standing on his knees... a pair of fierce hands clasping his throat, blood running from his wide open nostrils...  
  
Gasping, she'd backed off, spitting in front of him; her eyes burning with rage. "There is *no* way I will *ever* let you near me, she had said in a hissing voice. "The only thing you hunger for in life is money and power, and you find joy in abusing defenceless animals. I will *not* become a precious little possession of yours."  
  
With that, she had turned around and headed for the stable. The last thing she'd heard before the sound of Trifas' feet and the whistling of the wind had drenched all other sounds was the raised voices of her foster father and the man, who no longer had been able to control his anger. "Witch!!!" he'd screamed  
after her, so loud that the entire village must have heard.  
  
When she had come back several hours later, her foster father had been outraged. "Don't you understand?!" he'd yelled. "Even though you are officially adopted, you will inherit nothing from us as an unmarried woman! Do you understand? Neither money nor land! It's the law, and there is no way to go around it! It will leave you with nothing! Nothing!"  
  
"And what if that's a risk I'm willing to take?" she'd yelled back. "If the alternative is to tie myself up to a possessive animal abuser, there is nothing in this world that can make me choose otherwise."  
  
Her foster mother had cried, but neither her nor her foster father had been able to persuade her this time. Eventually it was her choice, not theirs.  
  
It had not been long until she had to face the consequences of her choice. The following winter a bad flu had struck the village, and her foster parents had both fallen ill. No one, including herself, had been able to do anything for them, and eventually they had died, just a few hours apart.  
  
The death of her foster parents had indeed left her with nothing but Trifas and the clothes she was wearing, but to her surprise, her foster father had added some lines to his will:  
  
*I leave behind a stepdaughter, who has been as dear to me as if she had been of my own blood. She has decided not to enter matrimony and therefore lost her right to this heritage. All of my possessions will therefore be passed on to the village elders. However, I have a proposal for them. Offer my foster daughter an employment as a messenger for the council. She may be a woman, but she is a swift rider and has a good steed. She is skillful with the bow, capable of taking care of herself, and she knows how to read and write. Please consider this option. She would be very valuable to you.*  
  
As the respected man her foster father had been, the council had actually bowed to his will. They had employed her as a messenger and made up an entire new set of rules for her, since she was the only woman in the service. The only payment she would receive was just enough to be able to stay at the inns along her expected route. But it was not much, and she was often expected to sleep outdoors, even during the winter. She would never be able to save enough money to buy or build herself a house. She was also forbidden to cross any country borders, otherwise her protection treaty was no longer valid.  
And they were always very quick to judge her if she didn't follow these rules.  
  
***  
  
During the last hours she had ridden very hard, and though she probably would be able to carry on herself, Trifas was showing signs of fatigue. He was soaked in sweat and his usually swift and steady feet had begun to stumble. She must allow him to get some food and rest. Therefore she decided to rest in a fairly sheltered place close to the road.  
  
Trifas had taken some mouthfuls of grass and he'd gratefully drunk almost a whole bucket of the water she had fetched for him from the nearby stream. But now he was just resting, his tail against the wind, head slightly bowed, and his eyes half shut.  
  
Rising from the ground, she slowly approached him, lifting a hand to carefully caress his muzzle. He welcomed her touch, lowering his head a bit, encouraging her to rub his face and ears.  
  
"Trifas," she said softly, stroking his face with her both hands now. "I'm so sorry, my dear boy..."  
  
She closed her eyes and tried to transfer some of her own strength to him. He sighed gratefully. Though not very old, he was no longer the young stallion she once had taken over from her foster father, since he'd had trouble handling him.  
  
She continued stroking him, humming softly, when he suddenly winced, lifting his head, his ears fixed, facing down the road.  
"What is it, Trifas, she whispered, "is someone coming?"  
  
Only moments later she could hear it herself. It was definitely the sound of hooves, from multiple riders, it appeared, and they were getting closer. This could be a bad sign, and she must be prepared to leave in haste. It could be burglars, and she would not stand a chance against them, no matter how skillful she was with her bow.  
  
But suddenly she heard voices. No... this could *not* be possible. It appeared to be the voices of children... very thin and high pitched... what kind of children would travel these roads? A family, perhaps, but then again... these roads were far from safe, and who would bring their children out for such a long ride, with several days to the closest village?  
  
She focused a little harder, trying to make out some words from their conversation. And suddenly, she heard one of them say something that could only have been stewed with cream and mushrooms. She almost had to restrain a laugh. It was a couple of hobbits, of course! But yet, it was still very uncommon for hobbits to travel this far from their homeland...  
  
These little people had always had a special place in her heart, since the day she first met them. It had been at the inn in Bree, The Prancing Pony, where she often had to stay during her travels. She had always disliked that place. The rooms were of good standard, but the people staying there had often been quite disrespectful to her and either treated her like a retarded child or in a downright harassing way. She preferred to take her meals in her own room, but one afternoon, all rooms had been occupied, and she'd had to eat in the common dining room and wait for them to prepare a room for her. It was not until then that she had noticed the group of curly haired little men seated by a table in the corner of the room. They had looked so innocent somehow; good natured, laughing and singing with voices that strongly reminded her of children's, and yet, it was clear that they were fully grown and capable of taking care of themselves.  
  
They'd also been looking at her when she entered the room and settled in another corner, at a table all by herself, but when the other men had started to give her dirty glances, and mockingly laughed at her, suddenly one of the little people had risen from their table and approached her. Even though she had been sitting down, she'd been more than a head taller than him. A little hesitant, he'd spoken to her. "Sorry to disturb you, lady, but we thought you looked lonely... and just wanted to say that... if you like... you can come and share our table. Eating is never enjoyable when you're all by yourself..."  
  
There had been nothing but goodness in his heart, and she'd accepted his offer, even though it had meant that she would have to sit on the floor. However, they all placed their cloaks under her before she sat down.  
  
She had soon found out that they were the kindest, most enjoyable company she could ever ask for. They were naturally a bit suspicious of human men, but were not frightened by a lonely woman who seemed to appreciate them for what they were and didn't treat them as overgrown children. Soon began to tell her stories from their homeland. They truly enjoyed talking, and she could easily laugh and relax in their company. Nob, the servant of Butterbur, the innkeeper, had noticed this and quietly passed it on to the other hobbit guests when she was staying there. This meant that she often was invited to their tables even during her future visits to the inn.  
  
Yes, hobbits were remarkable creatures, and meeting a couple of them after long weeks with no one to talk to but Trifas would indeed be something to look forward too. There had actually been rumours of a couple of hobbits who had set out from their home a few years ago to play an important part in something that took place in the lands far away, but as far as she knew, they had never returned. She had never believed much in those rumours--- it was just this kind of tales the hobbits loved to share around a table at The Prancing Pony. But if hobbits really did travel this far, there might well be some truth to the rumours, and she was very curious to find out.  
  
She continued stroking Trifas' face, waiting for the travelers to show up behind the trees down the road.  
  
  
**To be continued....**


	2. Six is Company

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  


Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
English is not my mother tongue, so please be kind if my grammar is not 100% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs to all of my proof readers!  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
**2. Six is Company**  
  
When the first horse became visible, she was almost regretting her decision to stay. The rider appeared to be an old man, with a white, long beard and hair. But he was also robed in white, and his horse was the most magnificent steed she had ever seen; his coat was white as snow, and the long mane sparkled like silver.  
  
Whoever this man was, he was definitely not human. She remembered another story she had heard at the Prancing Pony, about strange men who were of human form but possessors of wizardry and the ability to manipulate people's minds. There was no reason to believe that those rumours were false, with all the strange things that had happened in the country lately. This man might very well be one of them, and maybe he had just put the voices of approaching hobbits in her mind, to put her off her guard?  
  
But it was too late to try to hide. Trifas had already seen the other horse, and now he was neighing loudly. The other horse responded; a neigh just as majestic as his stature. She took a deep breath, and her hand went to the bow. But... the man appeared to have an air of goodness surrounding him, and even though she couldn't see his eyes clearly yet, her initial fears were beginning to fade away.  
  
A few moments later four other riders appeared. They were all riding chubby, stout looking ponies and were definitely of hobbit size. However, two of them seemed to be quite a bit taller than the other two, and they were all very uncharacteristically attired.  
  
When the white-robed man came within conversation range, he halted and met her eyes with a slight smile on his face. "Good morning, lady," he greeted her politely, with a deep, but kind voice. "Not many people traveling this road in these days."  
  
"Good morning, master," she answered. "And I agree, you are the first company of riders I've met in this area, ever since I set out."  
  
By now, the hobbits had caught up with the old man, halting behind him. "Good morning, lady," they said in unison.  
  
"Good morning, hobbits," she answered, eyeing them curiously.  
  
She had never before seen hobbits so oddly dressed. One of the taller ones wore miniature armor; a golden helmet on his head. He appeared to be very young; it looked as he had not even come of age yet. The other tall one, who rode closest to him, was clad in a beautiful, silver-grey cloak and a shield, decorated with a magnificent white tree, rested against his left leg. He also had a beautiful silver horn. It was obvious that he was the oldest of the two, though he was also very young. Even the third one was clad in a silver-grey cloak. He was the thinnest of them all, and rather odd looking for a hobbit; he had very high cheekbones and an unnaturally pale complexion, as if he was recovering from an illness. He also appeared to suffer most from the cold---his coat was very tightly wrapped around him, and only the fingers of his left hand stuck out from it, holding the reins. The fourth one appeared to be the most hobbitlike: chubby, red-cheeked and robust. He wore the same kind of cloak as the others. He seemed to stick very close to the pale one, in an almost protective way, suggesting that they were master and servant.  
  
"I am Tari," she continued, "messenger of the council of Ellglade, a village of the Northern Chetwood. And now... if you don't mind me asking, but who are you? I've never before seen hobbits so far away from home, in this kind of attire, or in the company of... men...?" she added, a bit hesitantly, looking at the white-robed man.  
  
The company smiled. "Amongst your people," the man continued, "I'm known as Gandalf, Gandalf the Wizard. And my travel companions here are all hobbits of the Shire. I am afraid, however, that our story is a bit too long to be told in an instant. We have been away for a very long time, and many things have happened along the way."  
  
Gandalf the Wizard? She tried to restrain her surprised look. Yes indeed, he looked like she had imagined a wizard to look, however... in the tales of her people, and the hobbits of the Prancing Pony, wizards had always been manipulative, evil, and hungered for power. This wizard traveled together with a couple of hobbits, and they appeared to be the closest of friends....  
  
The wizard turned to the hobbits, and they introduced themselves one by one.  
  
"I am Peregrin Took, son of Paladin," the youngest said in a cheerful voice, "but I'm generally called Pippin, or just Pip."  
  
"And my name is Meriadoc, Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc" the one with the shield said, in a voice that appeared to be a little more mature, but yet very jovial, "though most people call me Merry."  
  
"I am Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo," the pale one said, and it appeared it took him great effort to keep his teeth from chattering.  
  
"Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast,", the chubby one said, and reading from his voice, it was clear that he considered himself to be of a lower class than the other hobbits.  
  
"So... it *is* true then..." Tari said, smiling in amazement. "The tales of the hobbits at the Prancing Pony spoke of a couple of your kind, from the Shire, who set out for adventure a few years ago, and were supposed to have seen many beautiful lands and people, far, far away, but they never came back..."  
  
"You know of the Prancing Pony?" Pippin asked, a surprised look on his face. "We were just talking about that inn! You know, we are heading for Bree now, and we can't wait to get there, with the food, and the ale... and the soft featherbeds! They're telling tales 'bout *us* there?"  
  
Tari couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm heading for Bree myself, and I enjoy talking to the people of your kind when I stay at the inn. And I suppose they will have even more to talk about when you show up there in this attire!"  
  
"Oh," Pippin continued happily in a proud voice, "these cloaks were a gift from the elves, and I was made a soldier of Gondor, so that is why I'm wearing armor now."  
  
Tari gasped in astonishment. "Elves? You have had business with the elves?"  
  
Samwise smiled, exchanging a look with Frodo, who was smiling back.  
  
"Yes indeed," Pippin continued, "but also with the dwarves, men, and the Ents..."  
  
"I've only seen one elf in my entire life..." Tari said, half to herself.  
  
"Well," Gandalf said, lifting his arm in a welcoming gesture, "since we are heading the same way, why don't you ride with us for a while, and we can give you the full story?"  
  
Tari hesitated for a moment. If she chose to travel with this company, she might finally get an answer to some of the questions that had been on her mind for so many years. They might be offering her the only clue she would ever get about her background and the nature of her ancestors. But on the other hand, she was already delayed, and this company was obviously riding at a very slow pace...  
  
"I am afraid they are awaiting me in Bree," she said, "and the storm last night has already delayed us. However, if your story would be of any value to the librarians and the historians of my village, then perhaps my delay would be justified..."  
  
"I am certain that this news would be of great value to them," the wizard assured her. "And we may travel at a slower pace," he smiled, "but with the hobbits getting closer to home, it won't take us too long."  
  
"So, you are sure you wouldn't mind, then?" Tari asked, looking at the hobbits.  
  
"No, not at all!" Pippin said, shaking his head.  
  
"It would be a pleasure, " Merry filled in.  
  
Frodo shook his head, smiling slightly, and Samwise, after taking a quick look at Frodo to assure himself that he approved of the decision, shook his head as well.  
  
"As a matter of fact," Tari said, "Trifas, my horse, could do with some rest. I have been pretty hard on him during the last hours. I'm ready to leave at once, unless you are in need of rest."  
  
"No," the company said in unison.  
  
"We have only just started, after  
a long night's sleep," Gandalf filled in. "And it appears that the weather is worsening, so we better get going."  
  
"Very well," Tari said, and started to gather her things, pouring the remaining tea water over the camp fire.  
  
Within a few moments she had eased her pack on her shoulders and hung her bow over her left arm. With a swift jump she mounted Trifas' saddle, patting him gently at the neck, and rode up at Gandalf's side.  
  
It was clear that Trifas, who used to hold the highest rank among other horses, felt downright intimidated in the presence of the wizard's steed. He hardly dared to glance at him and was anxiously relying on Tari to tell him what to do and where to go.  
  
"So, Tari..." Gandalf began in his deep voice. "How much do you know about the history of the elves?"  
  
"Well..." Tari said, looking down. "To be honest... nothing at all. I've seen one, once, when I was very young, but that's all..."  
  
"Indeed?" Gandalf gave her a questioning look. "When I first saw you, I almost thought you were of elvish blood, had it not been for your ears. Or at least that you had been spending time among them."  
  
"I was adopted..." Tari began, a little hesitantly. "Found in the forest, and no one ever knew who my real parents were. Ever since I saw that elf, though, I have... suspected that I have some elvish blood in my veins... however... there was no way to really... find out."  
  
"It sounds likely, then," Gandalf nodded. "And I will tell you all that I know about them and our mission, as long as you're willing to listen."  
  
"I have no words to express my gratitude," Tari answered, her heart beating in excitement.  
  
  
*******  
  
As they rode on, Gandalf slowly and patiently began to tell the tales and the legends of the elves of Middle-earth, starting at the very beginning, at a slow pace, encouraging her to ask many questions. Tari listened breathlessly, trying to memorise every word. Once again, it felt like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. This was indeed the history of her ancestors, and the key to who she actually was.  
  
Most of the time, the hobbits rode a few feet behind them. They spoke only a little between each other, and they never interrupted Gandalf. Pippin appeared to be the most talkative, and sometimes he also burst out in spontaneous song or hummed in a soft voice. Merry often followed him. Frodo and Samwise were mostly quiet.  
  
Because of the weather, their meals were eaten while they rode. They only took a brief break for lunch, allowing the horses to drink from a nearby stream. Tari noticed that Frodo had very little to eat; he left almost half the contents of the plate (that Samwise had put in front of him) to Pippin (whose appetite appeared to have no limits). That was a very curious behaviour for a hobbit, but would explain why he was so thin. As soon as they had dismounted, he took another blanket from his pack and wrapped it around himself. Still, only his left hand stuck out from underneath it when he ate, but his movements looked somewhat clumsy, as if he was in fact right-handed, but for some reason preferred to hide that hand under his cloak.  
  
Samwise, though obviously not so badly affected by the cold, appeared to rub his nose very often, sniffling, when he thought that no one was watching. It could be the wind, but Tari suspected that he suffered from a mild cold and didn't want the others to notice.  
  
Tari was somewhat surprised that the wizard seemed to have the same need for rest and food as any other human. Apparently, he ate the same food as the hobbits, and as much as was expected for a man of his size.  
  
They finished their meal in haste and mounted their horses again. The wind had now become so fierce that Tari found it difficult to make out what Gandalf was actuallly saying, despite her sharp ears and his deep voice.  
  
When they finally reached the woodlands and a more sheltered resting place, they decided to stay there for the night and at least try to sleep for a few hours, as long as it wasn't raining. As soon as the horses had been tended, they all sat down in front of a large campfire to take their evening meal.  
  
Frodo was silent, and sat, as he had done at their previous meal, now huddled in two blankets, slowly eating from the plate in front of him with his left hand. He was staring into the fire with eyes that appeared to see things far away. He still looked very pale and cold. There seemed to be a strange air about him... an air of sadness, and loneliness, even when he was surrounded by his friends.  
  
Samwise was sitting right beside him, and if he actually had a cold, it was nothing that had affected his appetite.  
  
Pippin, however, had no problem with eating and making conversation at the same time. "So, Tari," he began, not caring the least that his mouth was stuffed, "since you spend a lot of time with our kinsmen at the Pony, you must've heard a great deal o' news from the Shire?"  
  
Tari hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to worry these young hobbits, but the truth was, there had been fewer and fewer visitors from the Shire in the later months, and there were rumours going around about a large number of "Big People" crossing its borders, for reasons she could only guess. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I haven't met any Shire hobbits at all lately, so I don't know. There have been so many stories of robbers and people of evil intentions traveling these roads during the later days, that people have preferred to stay home, and your kind have never been very fond of traveling anyway, so..."  
  
"Oh," Pippin said, obviously very disappointed.  
  
"Some of my uncles used to visit that inn now and then," Merry continued. "I'm pretty certain that they've been there looking for news about us while we were away... and that started the stories, I suppose."  
  
Tari nodded. "Most likely, yes."  
  
There was a brief moment of silence, when only the sounds of the chewing hobbits and the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then, all of a sudden, Samwise gave up a sneeze, so loud that everyone winced, and Frodo snapped out of his thoughts, losing his grip on the blankets. He quickly gathered them again, but not before Tari could catch a glimpse of his right hand. A wave of compassion rose within her. His third finger was missing.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sir", Samwise said apologetically, looking at Frodo.  
  
"It's all right, Sam," Frodo said in a soft voice.  
  
"Are ya' catching a cold?" Pippin asked, his mouth still stuffed.  
  
"Tis nothin', " Sam murmured, "just a sneeze."  
  
Pippin shrugged, and the hobbits soon turned their attention back to the food. Tari studied Frodo in silence. Once again, his thoughts appeared to wander far away, and it looked as he had to force himself to eat. What in the world could have happened to him, that had turned him into the shadow of a hobbit that he once must have been?  
  
She had promised herself never to do it again. It would just cause her trouble and grief, and how could she possibly be of any help? Soon she would have to leave the company, and most likely she was never going to see any of them again. But he was a hobbit... and a rather young one at that. What could have caused him such grief?  
  
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and made her decision. Then she turned to Frodo again, looking straight at him. Though distant, it only took him a few moments to notice her, his bright eyes widening a bit, meeting hers with a questioning look.  
  
A light... a light as bright and clear as the beams of a thousand stars... the perspective changing; a tower, the light in the top of a tower, white and majestic, facing the sea... The sea... an endless horizon.... and so... the wind roaring... fierce waves rolling against the shore... the sky turning red... red as blood... and in the middle of it... flames, roaring flames, slowly merging into... a wheel... a great wheel of fire... burning everything in its way; the tower in flames now... And then... series of foul images flashing by against the flames... hideous creatures... distorted features... yellow fangs and evil laughter... dirty knives, held by hideous hands... the clashing sound of a whip, finding its target... Sam's face, tears running down his cheeks... "Master, why did you hurt me?" Digging... thin, grey fingers, frantically digging in the dirt... a creature, its face looking like a living dead; almost like a cranium; but with gloating eyes... its lips separating in a hissing laughter... lifting a hand in triumph... clasped in it a finger, still wearing a ring... everything consumed by the fire... the flames roaring, filling the sky now... and then, suddenly... darkness... a black sky... against the roaring sea... the ruins of a tower on the shore... the waves against a black wall... no, must not get over... must *not* get over... a small tree, its branches almost bare, but yet alive, struggling in the wind, in an empty land... yet, surrounded by a shadow... like a dense circle of smoke... guilt. And an icing, throbbing pain... like poisoned arrows through the shoulder...  
  
Tari closed her eyes again, struggling to regain her self control and keep herself from trembling, knowing that he was watching her. She felt the tears burning behind her eyelids. Who could possible do such terrible things to this innocent, good hearted soul?  
  
The visions could not tell her of Frodo's actual experiences, but she knew that he had made a great sacrifice, giving up himself for a greater good. But for some reason, he considered himself a failure, and now the feelings and the memories were consuming him from inside, where they lay buried deep....  
  
Opening her eyes again, she found that he was still watching her with a curious look now, waiting for her to say something.  
  
Trying to hide the overflowing compassion, she smiled, met his eyes for a brief moment again, stretching a little, and shifted position. "Feels good getting warm again," she heard herself saying.  
  
Frodo nodded. "Indeed," he said, smiling slightly, his eyes then quickly returning to the fire. He was clearly demonstrating that he didn't wish to continue the conversation.  
  
Tari held back a sigh. With his previous knowledge of the elves, he was probably suspicious of her behaviour, and it was possible that he had felt her attempt to look inside him and would never allow her to get near him again.  
  
Sam rubbed his nose again, saying nothing.  
  
A few moments passed. Frodo had obviously abandoned his plate, though it looked as he had barely touched the food. "Well," he said, looking at the others, "Now, if you excuse me, but I am rather tired..."  
  
As he rouse from the ground, politely wishing the others a good night, Sam followed him, and they went to get the packs and seek out good spots for the bedrolls. Pippin had soon taken care of Frodo's plate, and following a smoke together with the wizard, he and Merry also headed for bed, leaving Tari and Gandalf alone by the campfire.  
  
*******  
  
Frodo sighed, curling up under the heap of blankets, trying to get comfortable. Two extra blankets and he was still shivering... when was the last time he had felt really warm? He could not remember.  
  
From a distance he could hear Gandalf speaking to that half-elf, or whatever she was, who suddenly had shown up from nowhere and just decided to join them. Why had Gandalf invited her, without even knowing who she was? All right, she might be a lonely lady, with endless days on the road and no company, but... there was... definitely something strange about her. A few moments ago, when they had been sitting around the fire, she had looked at him... and it had felt just as she had been able to see right into his heart...  
  
Not the way Galadriel did, either... more like... she had done it out of compassion, and more like... as if she had wanted him to uncover his feelings... and openly talk about them.... And the frightening thing was, that for a moment... he had almost felt tempted to talk to her... as if she actually would understand....  
  
He shuddered, shifting position again. He must try to avoid her... she must not get near him.... How he wished that she would leave soon... as if coming home was not hard enough in itself....  
  
No, now he was being selfish again. Always so selfish...  
  
He swallowed, fighting against the tears that were threatening to spill over now. Just a few more days...  
  
Eventually sleep overtook him, and he fell into dark and troubled dreams.  
  
*******  
  
"So," Gandalf said in his deep voice, puffing at his pipe, looking into the fire, assuming that Tari wanted him to continue the story. "Where were we?"  
  
"Oh," Tari said, snapping out of her thoughts. "Well..."  
  
She hesitated for a moment, looking toward the hobbits, who now all lay curled up on their bedrolls; Merry and Pippin next to each other and Frodo a bit apart from them with Sam at his feet. They were covered up in blankets, so she could not see their faces, but they all appeared to be asleep. "Excuse me for making you skip ahead," she continued, "but... I'm just wondering... what was... what were the hobbits'... and Frodo's part of- of your quest?"  
  
Gandalf smiled, but there was a bit of sadness in his blue eyes when they met hers. "All right," he said. "I will skip ahead a little, and try to leave out some details, so it won't take all night. But then I must first tell you about the forging of the Great Rings..."  
  
Tari listened in silence, while the wizard talked about Isildur's death, the return of the Shadow, and how the ring was found by Gollum. At the description of the creature, she recognised him from her vision, and shuddered. Frodo had felt both disgust and pity for him... why?  
  
As Gandalf continued; telling about how Bilbo took the ring from Gollum, Bilbo's adoption of Frodo, the decision to destroy the ring and the forming of the fellowship, it became clear to Tari how much this ring affected its bearer, and what it actually meant to be forced to part with it...  
  
"So it was Frodo who did it?" she asked in an almost whispering voice, meeting the wizard's eyes again. "He managed to destroy it?"  
  
Gandalf nodded. "Yes..." he answered slowly, "Together with Samwise, he marched over the foul land of Mordor..."  
  
"And that was how he lost his finger," Tari said, trying to keep her voice steady.  
  
Gandalf nodded again. "So, you've noticed? Yes, the creature Gollum also had a part in the destruction..."  
  
"I see," Tari said, looking into the fire.  
  
She could almost see the scene in front of her now: Gollum biting Frodo's finger off, then falling into the flames, together with the ring... But Frodo was wearing it... and that must mean that he had meant to keep it for himself... that it had finally seized him... was this why he considered himself a failure?  
  
The wizard smiled again. "I know you are concerned about Frodo," he said with sadness in his voice. "We all are. He has carried a great burden, and even though the burden itself is gone, the memories are still there."  
  
"Has he ever... talked to anyone about it?"  
  
Gandalf slowly shook his head. "He never talks a lot about himself, not even with Samwise I think, though they are the closest of friends. Afraid that people may worry about him. And we don't want to force him either..."  
  
Tari sighed, and they were both quiet for a while, looking into the flames.  
  
"Well..." Tari eventually said, breaking the silence, starting to rise. "I think I better get a few hours of sleep, anyway..."  
  
"Sounds wise," Gandalf said, looking at the sky. "It won't be long until the rain comes, it seems."  
  
"Goodnight," Tari said. "And thank you for everything you've done for me."  
  
"You're welcome," Gandalf smiled. "You have a good heart, young lady, and it has been a great pleasure to travel with you."  
  
After a brief check on Trifas, who still appeared to feel a bit intimidated by Shadowfax, Tari took out her bedroll and chose a spot a couple of feet away from the hobbits. Before she lay herself down, she took a last look at the sleeping hobbits. Frodo was curled up under a pile of blankets; only parts of his face were visible. Even in his sleep he looked cold, and she had to restrain a wish to touch him.  
  
Why had she allowed herself to do this? There was no way she could help him, and her presence would only cause him more emotional strain... but still, she couldn't just pretend not to care.  
  
When she finally fell asleep, listening to the whining sounds of the wind in the tree tops, it was not the scenes of the heroic deeds of her ancestors that played themselves in front of her inner eye, but the sight of a lonely hobbit, shivering in the cold...  
  
  
**To be continued....**


	3. Of Rainstorms and Blankets

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  


Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
English is not my mother tongue, so please be kind if my grammar is not 100% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs to all of my proof readers!  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
**3. Of Rainstorms and Blankets**  
  
Tari awoke with a start, gasping. For a moment, she didn't even know where she was. Then the memories came flooding over her, leaving a dull ache in her chest.  
  
There was no doubt about what had woken her up. Heavy drops of rain were now splashing against her face, and the wind appeared to have changed direction, leaving the travelers fully exposed to the weather. They must leave at once, or they would be caught in the midst of the storm.  
  
It was still very dark; only a few glimpses of the first morning light could be seen through the heavy clouds. The fire had died, and the company was still asleep, even the wizard, it appeared. She would have to rouse them at once. "Gandalf!" she cried in his direction, trying to make her voice heard over the wind. "There is a storm coming!"  
  
The wizard heard her at once and hurried to gather his belongings, while Tari moved to wake the hobbits. She decided to wake Sam up first and gently rocked him until he finally stirred. Then she moved on to Frodo, who sat up with a start before she had hardly touched him, giving her a bewildered and almost annoyed look. "It's alright," Tari said, looking at them both, while moving on to Merry and Pippin. "There's a storm coming and we had better get going."  
  
It didn't take long for the hobbits to gather the blankets and their bedrolls and stuff them into their packs. Sam could no longer hide the fact that he was indeed coming down with a cold---a bout of coughing had struck him as he rose. Frodo had looked concerned, but Sam had assured him that he felt just fine.  
  
"So where are we supposed to go now?" Pippin wondered, while they hurried to get the horses.  
  
"I know of a small cave a few miles away," Tari replied, looking at Gandalf. "We won't be able to light a fire there, but it is big enough to house all of us until the storm has passed."  
  
"That sounds like a good idea," Gandalf agreed. "It is a good thing we've been blessed with the presence of some elvish blood," he chuckled. "Who knows how long it would have taken otherwise for us sleepyheads to wake up?"  
  
"As long as we can get some *more* sleep," Pippin said, mounting his horse, "I won't complain, wherever you're takin' us".  
  
"There will be plenty of space for you to stretch out, Master Peregrin," Tari smiled.  
  
It felt like an eternity had passed before they finally reached the cave that Tari had discovered during one of her previous expeditions in the area, when she had been forced to seek shelter from another storm. It could even provide some shelter for the horses, since it was located in a small valley.  
  
Everyone, save Pippin in his armor, was soaking wet, and Tari politely turned away as the hobbits changed into something drier. The hobbits and Gandalf did likewise as she changed into another dress. But despite the change of clothes, everything felt damp and cold, and they all longed for a fire.  
  
Following a light meal, mostly consisting of dry fruit and meat with a drink of water, they unpacked their bedrolls and blankets again. The cave was indeed more than big enough for them all to stretch out; in fact, it could have housed a company twice their size without trouble, and since the hobbits preferred to sleep close to each other to keep warm, there were several feet between them and Tari, who had chosen a corner of the cave for herself. Sam had now suffered multiple bouts of coughing, to his friends' concern, but he still claimed to be all right, and he had eaten with good appetite from the food that was offered. Frodo had eaten as little as the day before, and now it also seemed as he was aware that Tari was watching him. He had given her several suspicious glances that indicated he wanted to be left alone. He had lain down beside Sam, as far from Tari as he could get, and he was hidden from her view by the others and the darkness of the back of the cave. Gandalf had settled down in the other corner.  
  
Tari felt far from well rested, and when she lay down, it didn't take her long to fall asleep again.  
  
*******  
  
She was slowly awakened by a repetitive sound. It only took her a few seconds to realize what it was. Chattering teeth.  
  
She sat up slowly, turning her head in the direction of the sound. Close to the opening, a small figure sat huddled in a blanket, looking at the roaring storm. There was no doubt of whom it was.  
  
Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake the others, who all appeared to be asleep, Tari started moving toward him, knowing that this might be the only chance she would ever get to talk with him...  
  
"Frodo?" she asked in a soft voice.  
  
Frodo winced, turning around quickly, and for a moment he looked downright frightened, as if he was trapped and couldn't run away. Realizing that he couldn't escape her, he relaxed a bit, trying to control his shivering, and met her eyes with a slightly questioning and skeptical look.  
  
"Frodo, are you all right?" Tari asked again, moving a little closer.  
  
Frodo nodded slightly. "I'm alright, thank you... I just couldn't sleep... the ground was a bit too rough over there..."  
  
She noticed he had brought his bedroll as well.  
  
"You look cold, she said. "Didn't you have another blanket?"  
  
"Well..." Frodo said, avoiding her eyes. "You know, Sam... he hasn't been too well this morning, and I think he needs it more than I do... and since I moved away..."  
  
"That's very kind of you," Tari said, "but you are shivering... I've got a spare one in my pack, and it's as dry as it can get..."  
  
"No..." Frodo said, backing away a little. "It's all right... you don't have to..."  
  
But Tari was already reaching for her pack. Unfolding a blanket, she moved toward him again, slowly, on her knees, offering to put the blanket around his shoulders. Frodo didn't turn away, but he was looking down, saying nothing. When Tari touched his shoulder while wrapping the dry blanket around him, she noticed that his own blanket was almost soaked in moisture.  
  
"Look, Frodo," Tari said softly. "This one is drier. I think you better put it under the other..."  
  
"It's not necessary, really..." Frodo objected, now unable to keep his teeth from chattering when Tari carefully lifted the damp blanket from his shoulders. He tried to hide his right hand behind his left.  
  
"Don't worry," Tari said, carefully wrapping the blankets around him again. "I know about your hand... I've seen it... and it doesn't matter..."  
  
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Frodo responded in a quiet voice, looking down. "I know it looks terribly appalling but-"  
  
"No, Frodo," Tari said, gently reaching in under the blanket, touching his hand. His fingers were cold as ice, and he winced a little at her touch, but didn't withdraw his hand, allowing her fingers to close around his for a moment. "Not appalling at all."  
  
For a brief second he looked up, meeting her eyes, and his eyes were so full of sorrow that Tari had to restrain herself from crying.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered, before slowly withdrawing his hand and lowering his eyes again.  
  
"Nothing to thank me for... you were cold and..."  
  
They were both silent for a moment, and the only sound that could be heard was the roaring of the wind outside.  
  
"Well..." Frodo finally said, breaking the silence. "I'm feeling a little warmer now... in fact... I think I better try to sleep for a bit..."  
  
"Good," Tari said, lifting her hand and lightly patting his shoulder before she slowly started to back away. *How* she wanted to just hug him, to comfort him... but she was well aware that any attempts to do so would frighten him more than do good right now. It looked as if her brief touch had helped a little though, and perhaps he would be able to sleep...  
  
"Thank you..." Frodo whispered once again before lying down.  
  
"Sleep well," Tari whispered back. She slowly turned around, looking at the other sleeping hobbits. Though she could hardly see them through the darkness, she knew that the ground in that corner was just as even as in the rest of the cave, perhaps even smoother...  
  
She returned to her bedroll, but remained sitting for a moment, quietly studying the curled up figure by the opening, watching his breaths become longer and deeper as he sank into a deep, peaceful sleep.  
  
  
**To be continued....**


	4. A Promise Given

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  


Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
English is not my mother tongue, so please be kind if my grammar is not 100% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs to all of my proof readers!  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
**4. A Promise Given**  
  
When Tari awoke again, the storm had almost subsided. She realized that several hours must have passed. The rest of the company appeared to still be asleep, even Frodo. Tari lay quiet for a while, watching the others slowly wake. She was delighted to see that Frodo was the last one to wake up, and when he did, he stretched and yawned, looking well rested. The other hobbits didn't appear to be at all surprised that he had moved away, suggesting that it wasn't the first time they have seen him behave like this. It seemed to be a mutual understanding between them not to comment on the matter; even Pippin was quiet for a change.  
  
As they sat down to take another cold meal before the departure, Frodo gave Tari a grateful look, and for a moment, she almost thought that he was going to say something. He was no longer shivering and a little color had returned to his face. But as soon as he was certain that she had noticed and received the message, he turned away again determinedly. He remained silent, avoiding her eyes during the rest of their meal, and ate as little as before.  
  
It was no longer raining, and the wind had almost died, but the horses were all miserable and wet. They had to dry them a bit, rubbing them with rags, before they would be able to put on their saddles. As usual, Trifas enjoyed the treatment tremendously, especially when Tari stroked his face and ears while she was humming softly. He was far from satisfied when she moved on to his neck and withers and demandingly nudged her on the back, rubbing his face against her shoulder. "Trifas!" she laughed, playfully grabbing one of his ears and rubbing it. "If I'd keep on doing that until you'd got enough, we'd never get away!"  
  
She stroked him a couple of times over the face before returning to his neck. Turning around, she was surprised to see Frodo turn around as well, quickly resuming rubbing his pony, suggesting that he had been observing her and hoped that she hadn't noticed.  
  
*******  
  
As on the previous day, Tari was mostly riding with Gandalf, who resumed his tale from where he had been before Tari had asked him to skip ahead. She listened with great interest, but still she found it hard to concentrate at times, as she tried to catch some snatches from the hobbits' conversations. They didn't talk much, and when they did, it mostly concerned their upcoming stay at the inn; the food, the ale, and sleeping in comfortable beds again after a long, hot bath. "I doubt we'll ever get there," Pippin sighed. "Feels like we haven't made any progress at all during the last days..."  
  
"Well," Tari could hear Frodo say, "in fact we have. If we keep on riding till the sunset, and make an early start tomorrow, we'll reach Bree by tomorrow night, if not before."  
  
Then he was silent again.  
  
*******  
  
The hours slowly passed by, and the weather was progressively improving. The cold wind had almost died, and eventually the dark clouds burst, exposing the pale autumn sun.  
  
They rode until darkness fell, when they finally stopped by an old, somewhat overgrown resting place in a glade rather close to the road. They were all very hungry, and soon a wonderful, warm fire roared in the middle of the glade. While Sam prepared the food, the rest of the company built up some stands where they could dry the blankets and the bedrolls for a while.  
  
The hobbits ate with tremendous appetite as usual, except for Frodo, who barely touched his food. As the night before, he was the first to excuse himself and wish the others a good night. After taking down his bedroll and two blankets from the stand, he disappeared into the darkness.  
  
The others soon followed Frodo's example, agreeing that they'd better rise as early as possible in the morning. Tari also fetched her bedroll and the blankets from the stand. She was amazed to find that they were almost dry. After a quick visit to Trifas, she started searching the ground for a suitable place to spend the night. But to be honest, she didn't feel tired at all. During her time with the company, she had slept more than she usually did for days. She was very well aware that she'd better continue at once on her own. Trifas was well rested, and if they started now and kept their usual speed, they would make it to Bree within a couple of hours. If she left a written message behind in which she explained her reasons, they would surely understand... and besides, it would save her from taking a very painful goodbye from the only people she had met for months who actually had been kind to her; treating her as an equal... But no... she couldn't do that. She couldn't just escape. She had chosen to get involved, and even though the subject of her concern was trying his best to avoid her, it was her moral duty to do everything in her power to try to help him, and even though her time was running out, their journey was far from over yet...  
  
She sighed and looked out over the glade. The moon was a few days from full now, and the damp grass glittered like silver in its light. The air was chilled, but clear. The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional snorts from the horses. Before she even realized what she was doing, Tari slowly walked up to the sleeping hobbits.  
  
Merry and Pippin lay pretty close to each other, as usual, but Tari was surprised to see that Sam lay all by himself, and Frodo was nowhere to be seen. For a moment she was almost worried that the scenario from the morning was about to repeat itself, but eventually she spotted a bundle of blankets that lay several feet away from the others, almost hidden behind a bush.  
  
It was clear why he had chosen this spot. It was just big enough to fit a hobbit-sized bedroll and the ground surrounding it was quite rough, with several rocks and bushes hiding it from view. No one would be able to get near him...  
  
He shifted a little in his sleep, his face looking even paler in the moonlight. Tari sighed. "Oh Frodo..." she whispered, so quiet that it was hardly more than a movement of her lips. "If there was any way I could help you..."  
  
She slowly turned around to walk back to the others, but had just taken a few steps when she heard a whimpering sound... Turning back again, she noticed that Frodo now was shifting uneasily in his sleep, obviously caught in a nightmare. For a second, she hesitated. Once again, she'd better not act too hasty, especially considering the consequences of what had happened earlier...  
  
But suddenly, Frodo started murmuring, and though Tari couldn't make out any words, it was clear that he was becoming more and more upset, his voice growing more and more high pitched. "NO!" he suddenly cried, thrashing so wildly that he stripped off his blankets.  
  
Tari clenched her teeth, giving in to her compassion. In an instant she was kneeling beside him, letting her hand touch his cheek. "Frodo..." she said softly. "Frodo... wake up... it's just a nightmare..."  
  
Frodo winced at her touch, and before she even knew what was happening, he sat up with a cry, grabbing her arm with both hands, panting. He clutched at her wrist with an almost remarkable strength, shuddering with fear, his eyes tightly shut.  
  
"It's all right, Frodo," Tari repeated, sitting down beside him, carefully lifting her other hand, soothingly stroking his damp curls. "It was just a nightmare..."  
  
Holding there for a moment, Frodo took a few deep breaths before he obviously returned to his old self again, slowly releasing Tari's hand. "Yes..." he said in a voice not louder than a whisper. "I suppose it was... I'm sorry..."  
  
He didn't withdraw from her touch though, so she continued stroking his hair gently. "Nothing to worry about," she said. "I was awake and heard you..."  
  
"I... I see..."  
  
"Are you all right?" Tari asked, gingerly placing her hand on Frodo's hands again. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"I'm alright, thank you... I don't want anything..." Frodo answered slowly. "Just- ..."  
  
He was silent for a few moments, taking another couple of deep breaths. "Please..." he pledged, turning a little to look at her now with anxious eyes. "Don't... you won't tell the others about... this, will you? They've... they've got their own troubles, you know, and-..."  
  
"Well of course not," Tari said, softly caressing his hands, trying to keep her voice from quivering. "Everything that has happened stays between us, and I would never tell anyone about it. You have my word..."  
  
To her surprise she felt Frodo gently squeezing her fingers. "Thank you..." he whispered. "Thank you so much..."  
  
After a few minutes Frodo's breathing had eased a little, but Tari could see that he was still shaken. She tried to transfer some comfort and calm to him, now when he didn't withdraw from her touch.  
  
"Does you feel like you can go back to sleep now?" Tari asked, breaking the silence.  
  
Frodo nodded a little. "Yes... I think I can try..."  
  
"Would you like me to stay here for a while?" Tari asked carefully. "I wouldn't mind... and no one will find out..."  
  
Frodo looked down, slowly gathering the blankets with one hand, leaving the other one in his lap, still softly touching Tari's. Before lying down, he nodded briefly. Tari could see he was fighting against the tears, and she had to use all her strength to keep her own eyes from spilling over. "It's all right..." she said, once again stroking his hair as he curled up on the bedroll.  
  
Before he pulled up the blankets so that they almost covered his head, she noticed that he was wearing a beautiful necklace--a white gem, almost like a little star, hanging on a silver band. She was surprised she hadn't seen it before; it must have been hidden under his cloak... her intuition told her that it must have a special meaning to him, and that he probably always wore it...  
  
She lay her hand on his forehead, letting it rest there for a brief moment, before stroking his curls again. "Sleep well," she whispered softly.  
  
Within just a few moments Frodo's face relaxed, and he sank into a peaceful sleep. Tari stayed with him for hours, quietly studying his sleeping features, not even noticing that the rocks cut into her legs. Just before the first rays of the sun climbed over the horizon, she slowly rose, quietly walked over to the others and settled herself on her bedroll.  
  
  
**To be continued....**


	5. Confessions and Complications

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  


Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
English is not my mother tongue, so please be kind if my grammar is not 100% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs to all of my proof readers!  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
**5. Confessions and Complications**  
  
Frodo awoke slowly, and for a moment, he almost thought he was lying in a bed. He was so tired... and yet it felt like he had been sleeping longer and deeper than he had in a very long time. As the memories from the night before came back to him he groaned, turning onto the other side. He had tried to avoid that half elf... but still. He wished that he would have been able to hate her, but instead... her presence was always soothing, and somehow... there was something about her that filled him with the strangest desire... to let himself be held in her arms and get comforted in a way he hadn't been since he was a small child...  
  
No! Where did those thoughts come from?! He was not supposed to think that way. He did not deserve her pity. He did not deserve anyone's pity. So why couldn't she simply understand that and just leave him alone?  
  
Sighing, he slowly sat up, finding that his body felt like lead, and that he was a little light-headed. Tari was no longer there, and though his sleeping spot was somewhat hidden from view, he was rather certain of that none of the others were awake yet. It was still very early, and the sun was barely over the horizon.  
  
All of a sudden a sharp spear of pain shot through his stomach, leaving a throbbing ache behind. He shifted a little, hoping it would pass, but it was soon followed by another, and this time the pain was so intense that he had to suppress a gasp. Slowly he laid himself down again, curling up, carefully rubbing his stomach, but the pain only seemed to spread on to his back. He sighed, closing his eyes, clenching his fists. Ever since the anniversary of his wounding at Weathertop he had not regained his appetite, and during the last days he had only been able to eat very little of the food that was offered. It appeared that he now was about to face the consequences....  
  
He tried to relax and fall asleep again, but even though he was so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open, the pain just appeared to intensify, making it impossible to get comfortable. Suddenly he felt his intestines twisting, and he knew that he'd better pay a visit to the depths of the forest... preferably before the others woke up. Taking a deep breath he cautiously rose, trying to gain control of his trembling legs. Thankfully the others were still asleep---even Tari, it appeared.  
  
After finishing his errand he found that the pain had still not eased, and he felt cold and weak. Maybe this was more than just a reaction to his poor eating after all. However, he knew he had to brace himself and join the others for breakfast... though the thought of food was very unappealing at the moment. But if Tari suspected that he was unwell, she would most likely confront him about it, and he didn't think he would be able to handle such a direct confrontation right now... which meant that the others would find out as well...  
  
By nightfall they would make it to Bree. If he was able to hide the pain and avoid Tari for a few more hours, she would never get the opportunity to talk to him alone, and most likely, she was going to leave very early the next morning, so they would never ever meet again. Never, ever again... but then, why did the thought fill him with nothing but sadness, when he was supposed to feel relieved?  
  
*******  
  
When Frodo returned to the glade the others were already awake and breakfast was being prepared. Tari had cursed herself for falling asleep when she awoke again, a few minutes before the others, and found that Frodo was gone. She drew a sigh of relief when his silhouette suddenly became visible against the trees. Within a few moments though, her concern was awoken anew. His face was so pale that it appeared to be almost ashen, and his steps were heavy, as if he had to command his body to move. It was obvious that he was trying to hide any signs of weakness.  
  
But as Frodo finally sat down beside the other hobbits with a polite, brief "Good morning," Tari was surprised to notice that he appeared to be ignoring her, even avoiding looking at her. She couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment. Why was he still acting as if he didn't trust her?  
  
As the breakfast proceeded Tari became more and more certain that there was something wrong with Frodo. He seemed to be having difficulties finding a comfortable way to sit, frequently changing position and rearranging the blanket he had wrapped around himself. He nibbled from the food on the plate in front of him, but every bite seemed to be followed by multiple, cautious sips of tea, and he had already refilled his cup twice. However, his face revealed nothing, and he remained silent. Was he in pain? Tari tried to meet his eyes for a brief moment in an attempt to find out, but he appeared to be predicting her intentions, and to her frustration, there was no way she could make him look at her, not even for a split second. Suddenly he pushed his plate aside, and when he lifted his teacup again, she noticed that his hand was trembling a little.  
  
As soon as the meal was finished the company prepared for departure; putting out the fire and arranging the packs. Frodo still treated Tari as if she was made of air, and she grew more and more concerned about his behaviour and could no longer hold back a sense of annoyance. Why was he acting this way? He turned his back on her as they put the saddles on the horses and appeared to be very caught up in his task, though his movements were still slow and he was fumbling with the leather straps, breathing rather heavily. Merry and Pippin were the first to finish, and as they left for the camp site to fetch their packs, Tari saw her chance. "Frodo?" she asked in a careful tone. "Is something the matter?"  
  
Frodo spun around quickly and looked at her, but avoided meeting her eyes. "Oh," he said firmly, shaking his head. "No... no. I'm quite fine, thank you. But if you'll excuse me for a moment..."  
  
With that, he fastened the last strap of the saddle girth, patted his pony lightly on the neck and headed off toward the forest again with swift feet. He had obviously decided to act as if he didn't remember anything at all from last night.Tari watched him in silence for a few moments, feeling her fists clench and a knot of worry forming in her chest. "I'll be right back, my boy," she said to Trifas and followed Frodo with light steps.  
  
She caught up with him just as the trees hid the camp from view. She had almost forgotten how quick the hobbits could move, and Frodo was no exception, despite the fact that he obviously wasn't feeling too well. "Frodo!" she called out, sounding more determined now. "Frodo, we need to talk."  
  
Frodo winced and turned around, and for a moment Tari was nearly startled at the anger in his eyes. Yet she could see that there was something else behind it... he reminded her of a small animal trapped in a corner....  
  
"Now, look here, my lady" he hissed. "I don't know about your people, but *my* people consider it quite impolite to follow someone who obviously seeks some privacy, just because you happen to feel like talking!"  
  
"Well," Tari heard herself nearly yelling back at him, "so *you* are the one to accuse *me* of being impolite? Do your people really consider treating someone who only wants to help you as if she didn't even exist---and then pretend that you had no idea you were acting that way---as an acceptable behaviour?!  
  
Frodo lowered his eyes, and for a moment Tari wondered if she had been too hard on him. "Yes..." he said after a moment of silence, nodding slowly, remorse in his voice. "You're quite right and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I've treated you this way... after what you've done to me... there are no excuses."  
  
"Don't worry, Frodo," Tari said in a softer, but yet persistent voice. "And I am sorry too. I know it was impolite to follow you, but I think we'd better have a little talk, you and I."  
  
"All right..." Frodo agreed, still a bit skeptical it appeared. "But if you'll excuse me... I have to- I have to take care of something first... I'll come back..."  
  
"Of course," Tari said. "Take your time, I'll be right here."  
  
She slowly sat down on a large rock, watching him disappear behind the trees with quick feet.  
  
*******  
  
Frodo fastened his breeches and straightened his shirt and cloak, sighing. The pain was just growing more and more intense. He knew what he was in for... a whole day of monotone rocking back and forth on horseback... and most likely he would need to stop several times along the way. The others would find out, if they didn't know about it already... and Tari... Tari...  
  
A wave of dizziness suddenly struck him, and he felt he had to sit down for a moment. There was no way he could escape her now, and she was right---he had been awful to her, after all that she had done for him. As usual, he had only been thinking of protecting himself, and yet, she still cared about him.  
  
Doubling over slightly, wrapping his arms around his middle and closing his eyes, he managed to fight off the rising sense of nausea. No, there was nothing he could do now but face the situation and talk to her... Maybe, if he did, just for a bit, she would finally leave him alone.  
  
*******  
  
Tari had been so lost in her own thoughts that she nearly winced when Frodo suddenly appeared from behind the trees. She tried to hide her concern a little, knowing that she once again had to act very carefully, but it was rather obvious that there was something wrong with him.  
  
Frodo tried to put on an emotionless face. "Yes?" he asked in a formal voice, giving Tari a questioning look, as if he had no clue to what she wanted.  
  
"Come, Frodo," Tari asked in a soft, yet determined voice, putting her hand on the rock beside her. "Please, sit down."  
  
Frodo felt as if someone else was controlling his body when he sat down beside her without even questioning her request. Looking down, he pulled his cloak a little more tightly around himself and put his hands in his lap between his knees.  
  
"Look, Frodo..." Tari began, hesitating for a moment. No, she had to ask him. Acting as if she hadn't noticed anything wrong with him at all would probably make him even more suspicious. "Are you all right?" she asked in a careful tone.  
  
"Well... yes," Frodo heard himself answer, "it's just... I've got a bit of a stomachache, but it's nothing really, it's just because of the cold, I'm sure..." To his surprise he didn't feel any anger directed toward himself for admitting this, merely just relief... and he suddenly realised he was longing for her touch. He didn't have to wait long; at the same moment he could feel her thin, delicate hand stroking against his arm, finding its way down to his lap, where it was put to rest on his own hand. He had to restrain a wish to clasp it, but still, he didn't move away with the attempt to control himself.  
  
Was this really the right opportunity to bring up the subject? Tari was pretty certain that Frodo suffered from more than a *bit* of a stomachache and pressing him would perhaps make matters worse. But on the other hand... this might be her only chance to talk to him, ever, and she knew she had to take it. "Frodo..." she continued after a few moments of silence. "The memories of the darkness still lie heavy on you... I never wanted to force you, in any way, but if you keep locking them up like this, trying to pretend that everything is all right, they will slowly eat you from inside."  
  
Frodo said nothing, but slowly lifted his eyes, appearing to focus on something far away, a blank expression on his face. "Gandalf has told you, hasn't he?" he heard himself ask in an almost accusing voice.  
  
"About your quest, yes, and the consequences of what you did," Tari admitted, "but the question is, how much did you actually tell *him*, save the mayor events?"  
  
Frodo felt himself unable to respond. It was clear to him what Tari wanted with this conversation. And she was right, of course. As much as he enjoyed talking to Gandalf, he was not the right person to talk to about personal matters. Not that Gandalf wouldn't understand, but neither magic nor wisdom would help him now. He shook his head. "Not a lot. But what happened to me is not important... he has other concerns... they all have."  
  
"What happened to you *is* important," Tari said in a soft but reassuring voice. "It is important for *you* and for those who care about you. And you need to talk about it... you need to let it out, even if it will be a painful process.'Your friends all love you... so much that they risked their lives helping you. Why can't you talk to them?"  
  
Frodo sighed, shifting position a little as his stomach twisted with a new spasm of pain. "They have already done too much for me," he said. "And they have moved on with their lives.There are still many obstacles to overcome for them, I'm sure, and they need their strength. I could never let them know about... some things... even though they just have to... listen..." He shook his head again, shuddering.  
  
"What about Sam then?" Tari tried to meet Frodo's eyes, but they were still distant. "He followed you all the way to Mordor. He knows what it was like... he must have some memories of his own?"  
  
Frodo nodded slowly. "He is the closest, dearest friend I've ever had," he admitted in a voice that quivered with emotion. "But... there were some things he didn't see... he didn't carry the Ring for a long time, and we were separated for a while. His own memories are bad enough, and if I talk to him about mine... it would almost be the same as asking him to go through everything again... and there is no way I could *ever* ask him to do that."  
  
He paused for a moment, shifting a little again, straightening his cloak with his free hand. "Sam has a different life awaiting him when he comes back, I think," he continued, smiling slightly. "He left this sweet, adorable hobbit lass behind, and the closer we get to home the more he misses her. I have no doubts they will marry within as short time, and that he will make a wonderful father."  
  
Tari nodded, returning his smile. "I'm sure he would." After a few moments of silence, she continued, still smiling softly. "And you didn't leave anyone behind?"  
  
Once again, Frodo shook his head. "No... I've always lived alone."  
  
Tari was silent again for a moment, feeling her heart wrench with compassion. Loneliness. Yes, she had seen a great deal of it herself, but this hobbit... The image of the tree from her vision suddenly came back to her, and she had to restrain herself from shuddering. "But isn't there *anyone* you can talk to, Frodo? Your parents... they are...?"  
  
Frodo nodded. "They died when I was twelve,and Bilbo..." Without warning he suddenly felt the tears rising in his eyes, and his voice cracked.  
  
Bilbo. Even on occasions when Frodo had felt reluctant to talk about personal matters, Bilbo had always known how to address it. He had never forced Frodo to talk, but the way he brought up the subject had always made Frodo hint about what was bothering him. And most often, without even pushing the matter further or questioning him in any way, Bilbo had put the pieces together by himself and wordlessly shown that he understood cared about him... in a way that never made Frodo feel uncomfortable. Somehow, Frodo had expected that talking about the quest with him would have given him back this old, familiar sense of comfort.  
  
Naturally he had been aware that Bilbo was aging more rapidly than a normal hobbit, since he had possessed the Ring for such a long time. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for their reunification in Rivendell. Bilbo... who had always been there... How could anyone possibly change so much in such a short time? His once so active mind was slowing, and his body was getting weary.  
  
Frodo remembered Elrond's words from his departure; that he should look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire when the leaves were gold before they fell. No doubt, Elrond would keep his word, but he had no power over the mortality of hobbits. Was Bilbo going to last that long? And if he did... would he still remember?  
  
Shuddering, Frodo closed his eyes, trying to regain control of himself. "Bilbo's getting old now..." he managed in a voice that wasn't much more than a whisper. "I don't know if I'll ever see him again."  
  
At the same moment he felt Tari's arm carefully finding its way around his back, encouraging him to lean himself against her... and though he knew that he'd better pull away, he seemed to have lost control over his body. He let himself be drawn into her embrace, feeling her warmth through the thick layer of clothes.  
  
"It's all right, Frodo," she said in a soothing voice, gently rubbing his left arm before her hand found his. This time Frodo clasped it without a word. "You remember the promise I gave you last night?" Tari continued. "Everything you've told me stays between us, I would never ever tell anyone about it."  
  
She pulled the shivering hobbit closer, feeling him relax a little when she tried to pour some comfort into him. But in the process she also became aware that he was experiencing far more physical pain than he had let on. She had to use a fair amount of her energy just to make it ease a little... and at the same time try to restrain her own emotions, since the waves of compassion threatened to overwhelm her, throwing her off her feet.  
  
"I-I'm having these h-horrible nightmares..." Frodo whispered in a quivering voice. "And I've t-tried to stay away from the others, not to d-disturb their sleep, but... it's kind of unavoidable w-when you're traveling like this... s-sometimes it means I can't allow myself to s-sleep at all... and I hate myself for making them w-worry about me."  
  
For a moment Tari let her chin lightly rest on the top of his head, rocking him slowly. "It's all right, Frodo," she repeated. "They care so much about you, you know, and caring about someone always means a great deal of worry."  
  
"But I don't deserve it," Frodo replied in a grim voice. "They wouldn't care about me at all if they knew what I have done, and neither would you!"  
  
For a moment he stiffened, and Tari was afraid that he was going to pull himself out of her embrace, but when she didn't appear appalled at his words, as he probably had expected her to be, he seemed to relax again.  
  
"Are you accusing yourself for what happened? Is that part of the reason why you don't think it;s worth talking about?" Tari asked, knowing that she took a great risk: he would either give her a honest ansver, or lock himself up again.  
  
But she was never to find out. Suddenly the air was broken by a clear, high hobbit voice calling their names. "Frooodo, Taaari!!! Are you there?!!" It was followed by the sound of light feet, quickly closing in on them.  
  
Tari closed her eyes, clenching her teeth. No, naturally, it couldn't be helped, there was no point in being angry with Pippin... such was the nature of hobbits... And they had been wondering, of course. Several minutes must have passed since she and Frodo disappeared, despite all the talk about a hasty departure. But all the same, the only chance to make Frodo open up was lost now. There would never be another opportunity.  
  
Sighing, she softly loosened her embrace, gingerly ruffling Frodo's curls before standing up again... but to her surprise, she suddenly felt Frodos arms closing around her again, for a brief, but grateful hug. Before Pippin came into sight, Frodo quickly wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeves and walked away a few steps from Tari.  
  
Pippin approached them with a curious and somewhat concerned look. "Oh, *there* you are," he said in a cheerful voice. "We were almost gettin' worried, ya know. Is something the matter?"  
  
"Oh no," Tari answered. "Sorry you had to wait, but we had some errands to run, in different directions... and the terrain gets rather rough after a couple of feet you see... so it took some time. We just met right now, on our way back."  
  
She was a bad liar, and she was aware that Pippin would probably suspect that she wasn't telling the whole truth, but then again, she hoped that he wasn't going to question either her or Frodo, respecting his friend's privacy. She was also aware that the mere hinting of the nature of the errands had caused Frodo to blush, confirming what she had already suspected: that he was very modest when it came to such things.  
  
"Ah, I see," Pippin said with a slight smile, but without trying to take the matter further. "So, are you ready to get going now? We don't want to be late for the Bree dinner, do we, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo just nodded briefly, and Tari noticed with concern that the colour was escaping his face at the mentioning of food. She hoped and prayed that he at least trusted her enough now to tell her if he was getting worse.  
  
"Very well, then," she said, trying her best to hide her frustration. "Let's not delay ourselves any further."  
  
*******  
  
They rode in their usual formation: Tari in the lead with Gandalf, and the hobbits slightly behind them. Today, however, they rode mostly in silence. The wizard seemed to be aware of her concern for Frodo, and although he didn't say anything aloud, it soon became clear that he, along with the other hobbits, had noticed that there was something wrong.  
  
Frodo had not said a word during the entire ride. It was obvious that he was trying to hide his discomfort, putting on a neutral face when he thought the others were watching him. But he looked paler than ever, and Tari, trying to glance behind as often as she could without making it too obvious, noticed that on several occasions he had to struggle to keep himself from falling asleep, and that his left hand often found its way to his belly, slowly rubbing it under his cloak. Sometimes he also fingered the white gem on the chain around his neck.  
  
As elevensies drew nearer, Sam, Merry and Pippin once again engaged themselves in a discussion about their favourite dishes at the Prancing Pony. Frodo immediately started to lag behind, apparently unwilling to take part in the conversation. Sam was the first to notice, and after a few moments, Tari could see him breaking up from the group, waiting for Frodo to ride up alongside him. She forced herself to look straight ahead again, just trying to focus on their voices.  
  
"Mister Frodo, sir," she could hear him saying in a voice that was somewhat hoarse from the cold, "I beg yer pardon... but are you all right?"  
  
"My dear Sam," Frodo answered in a soft voice, "it really should be me asking *you* that question, and I apologize for not doing so! How are you feeling today?"  
  
"I'm much better now, thank you," Sam replied in an instant, "and this cold's nothin' a night in a warm, nice bed won't cure. But pardon me for sayin' so, but you don't look well at all today, master."  
  
"Well, I appreciate your concern," Tari heard Frodo answer in a formal voice, obviously feeling a bit annoyed over the question, "but I'm just a little tired. As with your case, nothing a night in a warm, nice bed won't cure. However, I'm afraid I won't be enjoyable company today, Sam... so don't mind me! Go and ride with the others."  
  
"Very well," Sam replied. "Just tell me if you need anything." He slowly made his way back to the others, but even though they continued the conversation, Tari could see that he sent several glances behind in Frodo's direction on a regular basis, and the others soon did too.  
  
***  
  
"How about taking the elevensies on the road," Merry suggested. "That way we'd be finishing off that dry meat and fruit before Bree. And if we stop for lunch later, we can make a nice soup with the last bits, that would fill us up enough for the feast dinner at the Pony!"  
  
"Yes," Pippin agreed. "And how 'out doing it right now? I'm hungry!"  
  
Sam, Merry and Pippin dismounted their ponies and started searching through their packs, dividing the remaining food in half, saving one for later and making six equal portions of the other, despite the fact that Tari insisted she could eat from her own storage.  
  
But when Frodo rode up to the others, he didn't even glance at the food. "Excuse me..." he said with a grim expression on his face, unable to hide the fact that his teeth were chattering a little, "could someone please hold my horse for a minute?"  
  
Sam was with him in an instant, taking the pony's reins, and as soon as Frodo had dismounted he set off for the forest with hurried steps. Tari had to restrain herself from running after him, well aware of the nature of his problem, but also that there was no way she could help him now... she would never do anything that could make him feel embarrassed in front of his friends.  
  
The others exchanged a number of concerned looks, but no one said anything until the silence was broken by a violent bout of coughing from Sam. Tari quickly dismounted and offered him a water bottle. After a few sips the coughing subsided and he sighed in relief. "Thank you," he whispered in a hoarse voice.  
  
"How are you feeling, Sam?" Tari asked in a concerned voice. "That cough sounds pretty bad."  
  
"'Tis not that bad," Sam answered, once again dismissing the matter. "T'will pass in a matter of days... and some rest in Bree. Never been sick for long... However..." he added, pausing for a short moment, glancing in the direction where Frodo had disappeared, "I'm... I'm terribly worried about Mister Frodo... He's not at all well today."  
  
His eyes met Tari's and they were full of concern. For a moment, a sequence of images were flashing by her inner eye, images so touching that they almost brought tears to her eyes. Yes... she had always known that the friendship between Frodo and Sam was strong... but what she felt when she entered Sam's mind was overwhelming. Pure love, totally unconditional in its nature, but yet more powerful than blood ties. No matter what awaited them, Sam had followed his master everywhere, ready to sacrifice himself for his protection, and he would do it again if he had to. And there was no doubt Frodo's love for Sam was just as deep... he only had different ways of showing it.  
  
But they had one thing in common. They both appeared to be more concerned about the other's well being than their own.  
  
And suddenly, Tari got an idea. "Look, Sam," she began. "I have a suggestion."  
  
***  
  
Frodo sighed as he started to walk back. Every step caused new waves of pain to rush through his body. He barely had time to make it behind the trees this time... and there was no doubt that matters were getting worse. By now he was starting to feel downright nauseated, and judging by the chills and the weakness he felt, he was probably developing a fever.  
  
What if he told anyone? Tari was probably already suspecting he was getting worse, and the thought of her touch and compassion was comforting. But he knew that she'd never try to approach him in front of the others... unless he showed her that he wanted her to. But no... they were never to see him in such a state. He had to hold on. They could not be very far from Bree now...  
  
As he came back into the others' view again, he became aware that everyone was looking at him, their faces full of concern, asking the same question without words.  
  
"I'm fine," he said in a firm voice before anyone had a chance to speak. "Let's just ride on."  
  
But his words were not convincing. The gasp of pain that emerged from his lips as he mounted the pony again did not escape Tari's ears.  
  
*******  
  
Once again, Frodo was lagging behind. He had accepted the food they were offering him, but slipped most of it into his own pack, just keeping a few bits of dried fruit and carefully nibbling from a piece of dried apple just to make it look like he was eating.  
  
Tari halted for a moment and rode up alongside Frodo. He turned his head, looking up at her with a rather questioning but also somewhat grateful look, waiting for her to speak.  
  
"Frodo..." she began. "I can see that you are tired and not feeling well. Why don't you come and ride with me for a while... on Trifas, so you can rest a little?"  
  
In gratitude, Frodo smiled slightly, but shook his head. "Thank you, but no thank you," he answered. "It's not that bad. Sam is probably feeling far worse than I am... he should be given that offer instead."  
  
"Well," Tari said, "to be honest, he already has. I and Gandalf suggested that he could ride with any of us, but he refuses unless you agree to do so as well."  
  
Frodo shook his head again, and despite his misery he couldn't help smiling. "Good old Sam," he said. "Well, I guess I don't have much of a choice here. But I don't want to be the cause of another stop. It can wait until lunch time, since we're stopping anyway... and we have to re-arrange the packs."  
  
"Can you manage until then?" Tari asked with a concerned look.  
  
"I can," Frodo replied in a firm voice. "It's just a bit of a stomach ache, nothing serious..."  
  
*******  
  
"Am I the only one in this company who *ever* thinks about food?" Pippin complained.  
  
"No," Merry smiled, "you're quite right, isn't it about time that we break for lunch now?"  
  
Tari drew a deep sigh of relief. During the last hour she'd had no doubts that Frodo was starting to feel even worse. He had visibly nodded off on several occasions, and as he woke up and tried to settle himself in the saddle he had gasped in pain. By now only his stubbornness kept him going: his teeth clenched and his eyes fixed on the road in front of him.  
  
Thankfully no one had any objections to Merry's proposal, especially since the weather appeared to be turning for the worse once again; dark clouds were forming at the horizon, and there was no doubt that the rain would catch up with them again, sooner or later. As soon as they found a suitable place they halted, starting to dismount the horses and opening their packs.  
  
When Frodo finally rode up to them, Tari knew at once that something was very wrong. He was deathly pale, his teeth were chattering loudly and he was breathing heavily. His eyes seemed to be half shut... as if he was almost unaware of what was happening around him. Tari quickly handed over Trifas' reins to Merry, who happened to be standing closest, and hurriedly approached him, tightly followed by Sam.  
  
Frodo halted; an almost mechanical pull of the reins brought the pony to a full stop. There was no change in his facial expression--he didn't even lift his eyes. His pony also appeared to have noticed that something was bothering his master... and he was turning his head, looking at the others, uncertain of how to act.  
  
"Frodo..." Tari began, and Sam continued. "Master, pardon me for saying so, but you are not well."  
  
Frodo started moving to dismount. His teeth were clenched now, as he was   
obviously fighting the pain. "No... really... it's... it's all right," he said in a voice that was nothing more than a cracked whisper. "I j-just need a little rest, that's all."  
  
Carefully he swung his leg over the back of the pony, grimacing in pain, and slid down. But as his feet touched the ground his knees buckled, and he slumped forward with a moan. In an instant Tari was there, quickly folding her arms around his chest, preventing him from falling. Kneeling, she lowered him to rest in a semi reclined position against her lap, gently rubbing his chest, trying to take his hands. "Easy now... it's all right, Frodo... There now... you'll be able to rest in a moment..."  
  
Frodo struggled a little, trying to sit up. "I'm j-just tired..." he whispered, his teeth now chattering so loud that it was almost inaudible.  
  
"Shhh," Tari soothed. "Just relax..."  
  
After a few moments Frodo gave in and allowed himself to rest against Tari's lap, his eyes tightly shut and his fingers clasped around her hands.  
  
The others acted without a word. A double set of bedrolls were quickly unpacked and placed on the smoothest spot of ground they could find. While Sam was gathering as many blankets as could be spared, Tari helped Frodo to lie down on the bedrolls, placing him on his side, his head resting on another bedroll. At once he curled up, tightening his legs against his stomach, and a quiet moan escaped his lips.  
  
After tucking Frodo in, with some help from Sam, Tari sat down beside him, gently stroking his hair. "Frodo, dear," she said, her voice filled with concern, "why didn't you tell us you were getting worse?"  
  
"I-I'm sorry..." Frodo whispered. "I'm so sorry about all this... that I..." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard. "I don't want to be a b-burden."  
  
"It's all right, Frodo," Tari said, her voice filled with pity. "You would never be a burden to us... and you can't help being ill... it just happens."  
  
She put a hand on his brow, letting it rest there for a moment. His skin felt clammy with perspiration, and his forehead was warm to the touch, though his hands still were cold as ice. "You have a slight fever," she said in a soft voice. "Have you been sick?"  
  
Frodo shook his head. "No," he whispered, avoiding her eyes. "Just... well... you know..."  
  
Tari nodded, quickly leaving the subject. "Do you hurt elsewhere?"  
  
He shook his head again. "No. Just my stomach and my head... and I feel so c-cold..."  
  
His teeth started chattering again before he even finished the sentence.  
  
"It's all right." Tari said, gently rubbing his back through the blankets. "You will feel warmer within a few minutes. Just try to rest now."  
  
She reached for the pack that lay beside her and took out a small piece of cloth. After wetting it with the last drops from her water bottle, she started stroking it over Frodo's face, closing her eyes for a moment. Images of pain and nausea filled her inner vision, but there were no real clues to what was causing the illness. She used all her strength to try and ease it a bit, and yet, it felt as if she was barely scratching the surface. But her touch seemed to relax him a bit, and though the pain still remained, he appeared to be more comfortable now, his breathing slowing a little.  
  
Meanwhile, the others were preparing lunch in haste. They ate in silence, all sending concerned glances in Frodo's direction. Sam sat aside two bowls, filling one of them with soup and the other with broth from the top of the soup pot. Kneeling down slightly behind Tari, he tapped her lightly on her shoulder. "I've brought some soup for you, miss," he said in a quiet voice. He turned to Frodo, who appeared to be sleeping now. "How is he?"  
  
At his words, Frodo reacted, opening his eyes for a moment. "Better, thanks," he said in a hoarse whisper.  
  
"Thank you, Sam," Tari said in a grateful voice, "but it wasn't necessary, really."  
  
"With all respect, miss, you've got to eat," Sam replied, offering her the bowl. "Mr. Frodo," he continued, hesitating a little before continuing. "If you feel up to it, I've brought you some broth... very light on the stomach..."  
  
But at the thought of eating, Frodo moaned, curling up more tightly and swallowing hard. "Sorry, Sam..." he gasped, "but I don't think I can eat right now..." He swallowed again, trying to breathe deeply.  
  
In an instant Tari was with him, once again stroking his face with the wet cloth, lifting his head a little from the bedroll and easing him over the edge. "There now... just let it come up, if you need," she soothed.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Sir," Sam said, his voice filled with pity.  
  
"It's all right Sam," Frodo whispered, swallowing once again, his breathing slowing a little as he obviously managed to fight off the nausea. "You were just trying to help. How-however I think I better try to sleep now, for a little... go ahead and eat, Tari... I'll be all right..."  
  
Gently Tari put him down again, running her hand through his curls before tightening the blankets around him. "Sam," she said in a subdued voice. "Could you please get one of those smaller buckets for me... so we can place it beside him... just in case, so we don't have to move him if he has to..."  
  
Sam nodded, and within an instant he appeared with a bucket. "I better go help them re-arrange the packs," he said. "Long process, I'm afraid."  
  
Tari nodded, quietly placing the bucket beside her. "Thank you. Don't exhaust yourself, though."  
  
"If you need me, just call for me and I'll be right here," Sam said, and after giving Frodo another pitiful look he returned to the others. Tari could hear them re-stow the gear, the sound of metal against metal and the rustling of cloth. Still, not many words were shared between them, and even Pippin appeared to be deeply concerned.  
  
Eventually picking up her bowl of soup, Tari once again put her free hand to rest upon the ailing hobbit's brow. Finally he appeared to be drifting into sleep, his face relaxing and his breath becoming longer and deeper.  
  
*******  
  
"Frodo..." Tari said in a soft voice, carefully rocking the sleeping hobbit a little. "I'm sorry, but you have to wake up now, for a moment... just so we can stow these bedrolls into the packs... then you'll join me on horseback and be able to sleep again..."  
  
Frodo's eyelids slowly fluttered open, and he nodded softly as Tari eased him from the bedrolls, once again putting him to rest against her lap. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"A little better," Frodo answered in a whisper. "Actually..." he added, "I'm a bit thirsty..."  
  
"That's good," Tari smiled, once again taking out the water bottle that Sam had refilled for her, and putting it to his parched lips. Frodo drank carefully, but far from as much as she had hoped him to, before pulling away. Still, she was relieved that he at least had taken some liquid.  
  
"Tari..." Frodo began, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. He hesitated for a few moments before continuing. "I'm... I'm afraid I need to pay... another visit to the forest before... before..."  
  
Tari nodded. "Don't worry... we'll help you there. There's nothing to be embarrassed about... as I said before... you can't help being ill."  
  
After carrying Frodo to a suitable place, accompanied by Sam and Merry, Tari left him in their care and didn't return until they called her back. Frodo was silent and his facial expressions were grim. No one said a word when Tari picked him up, and it appeared that every moment caused him pain.  
  
"There now," Tari soothed as they approached Trifas. "Now, you'll just sit here in front of me, and-"  
  
"Really Tari... I don't know..." Frodo interrupted in a hoarse voice.  
  
"What's the matter?" Tari asked, looking at him questioningly.  
  
"I don't know if it's such a good idea, really," Frodo continued, avoiding her eyes, as if embarrassed. "What if I... I still might h-have to... throw up... or... you know..."  
  
"Oh, don't you worry about that," Tari said, her voice filled with compassion. "If you need to stop, for whatever reason, just tell me."  
  
Frodo nodded. "Thank you so much, he whispered and allowed Tari to carefully lift him up on Trifas' broad back. Mounting behind him, Tari tightened the blankets around him and pulled him a closer, encouraging him to lean against her. Finally she drew her cloak around them both, fastening it with a pin a few inches under Frodo's chin. Touching his hands, she felt that they were still cold as ice. She tied a knot on the reins, (knowing that Trifas would be listening to every shifting of her weight in the saddle, and every spoken command), and took Frodo's small hands in hers. "There now..." she whispered. "Now, try to rest... tonight, you'll be sleeping in a nice, warm bed by the fire... after a long, hot bath... just a few hours to go now..."  
  
*******  
  
Frodo allowed himself to lean against Tari's chest, gratefully accepting the warmth she was offering; drowsiness overcoming him almost at once. Yes, there was definitely something about her touch... though his stomach was still twisting in agony, her presence was somehow making it easier to fight it, as if her compassion was so strong, that it actually affected the sensation of pain.  
  
Yes, he had been healed by elves before, and he knew about their abilities. Yet this was different. Tari always seemed to know just how to act, as if she knew just what he felt, even though he was trying to hide it, and didn't care that he was trying to do so. She just wanted him to get healed, no matter the cause of his pain. And though he normally would try to do anything to lock himself up, something about her made him feel different... as if it didn't matter. And though he had felt reluctant at first, he was now blessing Elbereth for her presence.  
  
However, the nausea he had been feeling had still not eased, and the rocking, although more endurable than on the back of his pony, was only making matters worse. Despite his drowsiness he had felt it rising in his throat on several occasions now, his brow breaking out in a cold sweat as he had managed to fight it back. He felt another wave coming in now and tried to stifle it... no, perhaps he'd better tell her to stop the horse now... yes... he had to... the pain... but just a few more steps... just a few steps... so tired... so tired... he'd better tell her... he had to...  
  
But feeling Tari's grip around his fingers tighten a little as she pulled him closer, sleep finally overtook him, and he fell into a deep, peaceful slumber...  
  
  
**To be continued....**


	6. Of Ginger Tea, Hot Baths and Papers of G...

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  


Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
English is not my mother tongue, so please be kind if my grammar is not 100% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
*Special note on chapter 6* As you probably will notice, some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from Lord of the Rings; The Return of the King, chapter Homeward Bound. I feel somewhat guilty for lifting it out of its context, but choose to do so to keep the characters as authentic as possible.  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs for , (my proof reader), and for all my dear reviewers!  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
**  
6. Of Ginger Tea, Hot Baths, and Papers of Great Importance**  
  
A few hours later, the dark clouds caught up with the travelers, and within a short time the rain was pouring down, leaving them miserable and wet, save Frodo and Sam, who still rode with Tari and Gandalf, well protected under their cloaks. Frodo had slept quietly almost since they had started, and his hands felt a little warmer now, still clasped between Tari's slender fingers. Even Sam appeared to be asleep now, knowing that his master was safe.  
  
As expected, the gate-keeper of the South-gate of Bree greeted them with suspicion, reluctant to let them in without a closer inspection. Gandalf, Merry and Pippin appeared a bit surprised, and almost disappointed about his behavior, as if they had expected a much warmer welcome and to be recognised at once. But it was not until Gandalf had spoken that the gate-keeper appeared to remember and eventually opened up the gate for them, apologising for the delay. Tari quietly showed him her contract, gesturing at the sleeping hobbit in front of her, and the gate-keeper waved her through without a word.  
  
Tari could hear Merry and Pippin sigh in relief as the sign of The Prancing Pony finally became visible in the dim lights of the city. Nothing seemed to have changed since her last visit; the lights behind the red curtains in the lower windows still burned with a welcoming light . . . whispering of warmth and shelter from the rain. But not until they had pulled the bell string several times did the door slowly open and a pair of suspicious eyes peep through the crack.  
  
"Nob?" Tari asked in a soft voice, trying not to disturb the still-sleeping Frodo.  
  
The door opened wider, and soon the small, chubby hobbit servant become visible, smiling in   
recognition and relief. "Miss Tari! and... well, I never, Master *Gandalf*!!!"  
  
Without any further words of welcome, Nob turned around, shouting into the hall. "Mr. Butterbur! Master! They've come back!"  
  
"Oh have they? I'll learn them!" a voice was heard from afar, and within a few moments Barliman Butterbur himself appeared, causing the hobbits to gasp in surprise as he carried a club in his hand, ready to strike. But recognising the travelers at once, the look on his face changed to wonder and delight. "Nob, you woolly-pated ninny!" he cried, making the hobbit servant turn his head away in shame."Can't you give old friends their names? You shouldn't go scaring me like that, with times as they are. Well, well! And where have you come from? I never expected to see any of you folk again, and that's a fact: going off into the Wild with that Strider, and all those Black Men about. But I'm right glad to see you, and none more than Gandalf. And..."   
  
He turned to Tari, studying her with concerned eyes. "You've found the Ellglade messenger too, I see," he added. "We have been expecting you for a while now, Miss Tari; they have been asking for you..."  
  
He looked at her, his eyes demanding an explanation.  
  
"Don't blame Nob, sir," Tari said. "He couldn't help it---we gave him quite a scare."  
  
Nob gave Tari a grateful look and Gandalf took over. "This young lady has been riding with us for the last two days," he explained, "and the weather has delayed us..."  
  
Tari nodded. "And one of the hobbits is sick..." she continued, gesturing at Frodo, who still slept, despite the commotion. "Can you please arrange so that he can lie down while you prepare rooms for us? It's not contagious," she quickly added as Butterbur had looked worried at the mentioning of illness.  
  
"Of course," he said. "I'll see to that. But come in! Come in! And I'll see what can be done about supper, as soon as may be; but I'm shorthanded at present. Hey, Nob, you slowcoach! Tell Bob! Ah, but there I'm forgetting, Bob's gone: goes home to his folk at nightfall now. Well, take the guests' horses to the stables, Nob! And you'll be taking your horse to his stable yourself, Gandalf, I don't doubt. A fine beast, as I said when I first set eyes on him. Well, come in! Make yourselves at home!"  
  
Merry and Pippin dismounted first, along with Gandalf, who slowly put Sam down on the ground and started walking his mighty steed toward the stable. After waiting for Nob to lead away one horse at the time, Tari carefully prepared herself for dismounting Trifas. She unfastened her cloak, and still keeping a firm grip on Frodo's left leg, she slid down. Once again tightening the blankets around him, she carefully eased him from the horse, holding him close. He whimpered a little, but didn't wake up even now. How thin he was, Tari mused to herself. Despite his thick layer of clothes he was not much heavier than a small child... She sighed, softly rocking his tiny body while waiting for Nob to return. As he did, she quickly handed over Trifas' reins to him. Usually it was Bob who took care of Trifas at her visits if she was not asked to do it herself.   
  
"Nob, I'm sorry..." she said, looking at him apologetically, "I know he's a bit too high for you, and I'd be delighted to help you, but..." She looked down at the bundle in her arms, sighing in concern. "I'm sure Gandalf will help you with the saddle, if you ask him."  
  
Smiling gratefully, Nob shook his head. "You're most kind, but don't you worry about me, Miss Tari," he said. "I'll handle it. He's not the first high horse I've been takin' care of... I have my tricks. You just take care of Mr. Baggins now..." He slowly started walking toward the stable, and Trifas, obviously understanding the gravity of the situation, followed him, as gentle as a lamb.  
  
Butterbur suddenly turned up in the doorway again, waving for them to come in, and Tari, along with Merry, Sam and Pippin, hurried inside, greeted by the warmth and all the scents of the inn. Butterbur lead them through the front hall and into a smaller parlour. The hobbits appeared surprised over how few guests were staying at the inn; only a few voices could be heard from the Common Room. It would make sense, Tari thought. One year ago, when they last passed through this town, there were still many travelers on the roads...  
  
The innkeeper gestured toward a couch at the far end of the room. "You can put him down there," he said, and Tari complied, tenderly placing two cushions under Frodo's head before sitting down beside him and stroking his damp curls out of his face.  
  
"What's the matter with the little master?" Butterbur asked in a concerned voice.  
  
"It's his stomach, Merry answered briefly, giving Frodo a pitiful look.  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," Butterbur said. "We can have some ginger tea prepared for him, and perhaps some broth later... if he feels up to it... after I've got those rooms prepared for you."  
  
"Oh yes, some ginger tea would be the best thing to give him now, thank you," Sam agreed, his tone suggesting that this remedy had been successfully tried on his master before.   
  
"We'll see to it then, Butterbur nodded.  
  
Tari put her hand to rest upon Frodo's brow for a moment. He felt a bit warm... maybe a little bit warmer than before, but it was still nothing more than a slight fever, and his pain appeared to have eased a bit. But at her touch he suddenly stirred, his bright eyes slowly fluttering open.  
  
"Shhh, Frodo," Tari whispered. "You don't need to wake up... it's all right..."  
  
But realising he was no longer on the horseback, Frodo could not allow himself to fall asleep again. At first he tried to sit up to look around, but gently restrained by Tari's hand on his forehead, he became aware of how weak he felt and sank down on the cushions again. "Where am I?" he whispered.  
  
"We're at the Pony now," Tari answered in a soothing voice. "Soon you'll be resting comfortably in a warm bed... how are you feeling?"  
  
"Actually..." Frodo answered, so quiet that just those who were sitting closest to him could hear. "Very much better, thank you... far from well, but my stomach... it's almost as if it's... numb, somehow."  
  
Tari nodded, and though she was relieved that he was feeling better, she was also aware that this numbness could be a reaction to her efforts to reduce his pain, and she hoped that the effects would last. "That's good," she said, smiling broadly. "And you're not feeling sick either?"  
  
Frodo shook his head, smiling slightly in return. "No... it's much better..."  
  
"That'ts good to hear," Tari answered in an encouraging voice. "You'll probably be completely recovered tomorrow."  
  
Frodo nodded again, closing his eyes. "I hope so..."  
  
Suddenly Gandalf's silhouette became visible in the doorway, and Butterbur nodded at him. "Oh, yes," he said in a voice that suggested that he almost had forgotten about it, "concerning the rooms... would you like to have the same rooms as - before? They're free. Indeed most rooms are empty these days, as I'll not hide from you, for you'll find it out soon enough."  
  
"I am not going to need a bed tonight," Gandalf said, looking at the innkeeper. "I think we will have a lot of things to talk about, old friend." He smiled. "But my companions are all rather tired, I'm afraid... perhaps you can put in an extra human-sized bed in the hobbit room you offered them last time?"  
  
Tari gave the wizard a grateful look, but Butterbur shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, but the doors of the hobbit rooms are too narrow for human-sized beds..."  
  
"But Miss Tari better stay with Mr. Frodo," Sam said, looking at the innkeeper with grave eyes. "If she isn't a healer in disguise, she's the best natural healer I've ever seen, and my master needs her..."  
  
"Sam, dear," Tari smiled. "It's all right. I can sleep on the floor---it would be no trouble at all. Just give me a couple of blankets and perhaps a thin mattress--"  
  
"Oh, no you *don't,*" Frodo interrupted, his voice so unexpectedly loud that they all winced. "There is no way I would allow you to spend your only night within the warm walls of a house for weeks on a cold floor, just because I happen to have a bit of a stomachache!"  
  
"Easy now, Frodo," Tari said, once again putting her hand on his forehead to make him lie down. "I'm certain we'll eventually find a solution that will satisfy us all." She looked at the innkeeper, who now appeared to be deep in thought.   
  
"In fact..." he said after a few moments of silence, "I might have an alternative for you, but I'm not certain you'll approve it, and it is not really according to the rules of this inn... but I'm willing to make an exception for you."  
  
"Well, then, tell us about it," Tari said.  
  
"You see," Butterbur started, a bit hesitantly at first, "at the same floor as the hobbit rooms, there are two spare human-sized family rooms that have been empty for months, if not longer.... Now, only problem is, there is just one bed in those... but all the same, it's meant to fit three people; two grown ups and a smaller child... so there'd be plenty of space...." He looked at Tari, who turned to meet Frodo's eyes. "And that way," he added, also looking at Frodo now, "you won't wake everyone up if you're having problems with--"   
  
"All right, all right," Tari interrupted, knowing that Butterbur could be rather clumsy with his explanations, and Frodo was obviously feeling humiliated enough by the situation. "We know about the conditions, and that would be perfectly all right with me... if it is all right with you, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo was silent for a moment, looking away, but finally, he nodded briefly. "I thank you for your kind offer," he said. "Sam needs his sleep... he hasn't been feeling too well either, and the others need rest as well... and Butterbur is right, I might not sleep quietly through the night... however..." He looked at Tari with anxious eyes before continuing. "I don't want to disturb you either... there is no doubt that the best solution would be to place me in a single room, so you would all be left in peace."  
  
"But there is no way we would allow that," Tari said.  
  
"I know," Frodo said, once again looking away, "and therefore, I agree..."  
  
"Good." Tari smiled, patting Frodo's arm. She could hear the others sighing in relief. For a moment, the ailing hobbit's eyes met Tari's again, and they were full of gratitude.  
  
"I can show you to the rooms at once," Butterbur said, and carefully easing her small charge from the couch, Tari followed the innkeeper through the dark and empty hallways with Merry, Pippin and Sam slightly behind her. Gandalf chose to stay in the parlour, waiting for Butterbur to return.  
  
"I reckon you want the rooms closest to each other," the innkeeper said, stopping outside a door that was about two times as broad as most doors on that floor. "Well, I guess you all remember where you slept last time... it must have been over there..." He gestured to a smaller door close by, and the hobbits nodded. "It's our biggest hobbit-sized room, with four beds," he continued. "And this is the closest family room..." He put a key in the lock and turned it, and the door slid open with a creaking sound. The two candles he was carrying cast dancing shadows on the walls as they entered, and what was revealed almost made Tari gasp in surprise.  
  
The room was big, much larger than expected. Compared to the rooms she was normally offered at her stays, it was huge. And it even had a window, a large window, apparently facing some kind of overgrown backyard. The bed was so broad that Tari was certain it easily would have fit four fully grown humans. Rather close to the fireplace, which took up an entire corner, was a table with four chairs. Close to the bed stood a nightstand with a water pitcher and a basin and a dresser with several large drawers.  
  
"I hope the room will be to your liking," Butterbur said. "I'm afraid both rooms are rather cold at the moment, but as soon as that slowcoach Nob returns from the stables, I'll ask him to light the fires, starting with this room, and bring up your packs."  
  
"Thank you very much, Mr. Butterbur," Tari said, gently putting Frodo down on the bed and once again elevating his head a little with help from the large, fluffy down pillows that lay under the counterpane. "It's perfect."  
  
But the innkeeper once again appeared to be lost in thought. "Nob... stables..." he said to himself. "Now!" he suddenly exclaimed, slapping his forehead. "Now what does that remind me of?"  
  
"Not another letter you've forgotten, I hope, Mr. Butterbur?" Merry said.  
  
"Now, now, Mr. Brandybuck, don't go reminding me of that! But there, you've broken my thought. Now where was I? Ah! That was it. I've something that belongs to you. If you recollect Bill Ferny and the horse thieving: his pony as you bought, well, it's here. Come back all of itself, it did. But where it had been to you know better than me. It was as shaggy as an old dog and as lean as a clothes-rail, but it was alive. Nob's looked after it."  
  
"What! My Bill?" Sam cried. "Well, I was born lucky, whatever my gaffer may say. There's another wish come true! Where is he?"  
  
Butterbur laughed. "He's safe and sound in the stable with the other ponies, and it didn't take him long to make up for all the food he'd been neglected in his days, I'd say."  
  
Sam's eyes wandered between the hobbits, an apologetic and almost embarrassed look on his face.   
  
"But of course, dear Sam," Frodo said. "You go ahead and visit him. Just make sure you don't miss that dinner now." He smiled at his servant, and Sam beamed in delight. "Thank you, sir," he replied. "Oh no, I won't. I'll be right back, master, I just need to see him, that's all..." With that, he disappeared out in the hallway, and Merry and Pippin chuckled, shaking their heads. Frodo merely smiled a little.  
  
"Bill followed us all the way to the gates of Moria, where we had to let him go," Merry explained to Tari. "He and Sam were equally attached to each other... despite everything that has happened to us, I think he's been thinking of him every day."  
  
"He has such a good heart," Tari said.  
  
"He has indeed," Frodo agreed.  
  
"Well," Butterbur interrupted, "certainly much better than my head, that's for sure! I almost forgot---dinner it was! It will be ready within half an hour, and we can serve it here in the parlour, if you like... unless you wish to take it in your rooms, that is. Then I'd very much appreciate if you came and picked it up in the kitchen by yourself... my apologies, but as I mentioned earlier, I'm a bit short handed at present. Nob will fetch the dishes later, and ah, I reckon you all want a nice, warm bath before going to sleep? We'll take care of that too... and if you want to wash up a bit before dinner, there is a washing room down the hall, but oh, why do I need to mention that, since you're all familiar with the place?"  
  
"Now *that* is something we've all been looking forward to," Tari said. "Make that four baths in the hobbits' room and one here."  
  
"Of course," the innkeeper said, and Frodo gave Tari a brief, but grateful look. "And if you still want that ginger tea, Mr... Underhill, no, Baggins, was it, wasn't it, you'll have it in a moment," Butterbur continued, looking at Frodo, who nodded.  
  
"Frodo..." Tari said, "they said they could bring some broth for you as well. Do you feel up to it? You need some fluids, you know..."  
  
Frodo closed his eyes again, obviously still not very comfortable with the thought of eating, but nodded anyway. "I suppose I can try," he whispered.  
  
"That's good," Tari said, and her relief was mirrored in the eyes of the others. "I can get it from the kitchen myself within fifteen minutes or so."  
  
Butterbur handed Merry the key to the hobbit room, and after lighting the lamp at the bedside table with one of his candles, he stepped out into the hallway. "Nob will be with you in a moment," he said before shutting the door. "And if you need anything before that, don't hesitate to call for me!"  
  
Tari reached for the drawer and was happy to find some extra blankets inside. "As soon as the room is warm enough, and you've come back from your bath, we'll tuck you in more comfortably..." she promised, stripping the old, rather damp blankets from Frodo. "In the meantime... let me just remove your sword here, so it won't get in the way."  
  
Frodo just nodded quietly and guided her slender fingers to the sword belt. She started to unfasten it, careful not to tighten it too much as she tried to get the pin out of the hole. But even the slightest pressure on his belly made him wince in pain.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Frodo..." Tari apologised as she put the sword down by the bed, reaching for the dry blanket.  
  
"It's all right..." Frodo answered. "It's still a little tender to the touch, that's all..."  
  
Tari once again put her hand on his brow, trying to pour some more comfort and calm into his ailing body, before she tucked him in with the dry blanket. "Now you just lie here and rest. Try to sleep again, if you can... I'll be right here...." She stroked his hair reassuringly.  
  
"Yes, dear cousin," Merry said, finally able to make his lips to move. "We'll be right here for you... don't you worry about anything."  
  
Frodo didn't answer; he just closed his eyes, swallowing slightly, and appeared to be relaxing anew.  
  
*******  
  
It didn't take many minutes until a soft knock was heard on the door and Nob entered carrying a whole sack of firewood. Frodo was asleep again, and the other hobbits had gone to clean themselves up, so Tari just helped him in silence and soon a warm fire was burning on the hearth. She gestured toward the door, and they both stepped out into the hallway; Nob carefully closing the door behind them. "Now, Miss Tari, what can I do for you?"   
  
Tari thought for a few moments. "I'd like to have... two extra buckets of water, one at least lukewarm and the other cold... perhaps some pots for heating water as well... and some ginger so we can prepare more tea ourselves, if Frodo needs it... along with a couple of hot-water bottles and some washing cloths, some large towels..." She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I'm afraid I have some laundry to be done as well... practically all my clothes are in need of washing..."  
  
"I'm sorry, miss," Nob replied, looking at her apologetically, "but we no longer offer laundry services, I'm afraid ... Mr. Butterbur had to let some people go because of the bad times. But I can do it for you, it'd be no trouble at all! As soon as my duties are over for the day."  
  
"Oh no, I can do it myself then... if you perhaps could bring up two laundry basins, one for washing and the other for rinsing..."  
  
"Anything for you, Miss Tari!" Nob smiled. "You'll have your laundry basins as soon as I'm able to prepare them, and I'll try to remember the rest of your list as well. And if you need anything else during the night, just pull the bell string and I'll be here in an instant!"  
Tari thanked the servant and entered the room again, relieved to feel a wave of warmer air greeting her as she opened the door. It was warming up quickly, and she had no doubts that it would be really warm by bedtime. Putting a few more logs on the fire, she hung the damp blankets on the clothesline close by and wrote Frodo a short message; that she was in the kitchen and would be back shortly, in case he woke up while she was gone. After making sure he was still well tucked in, she quietly slipped out into the hallway again, carefully closing the door behind her.  
  
When she entered the kitchen, Tari was relieved to see that the ginger tea and the warm broth had already been prepared. She only had to wait half a minute for her own dinner, and never before had she been offered such delicacies; the chicken stew looked absolutely fabulous, and there was even a slice of cake for dessert. There was hardly enough room on her tray for all the dishes.  
  
She had just made it to the beginning of the hallway when something suddenly came dashing toward her out of the darkness, nestling itself around her legs. It only took her half a moment to realise what it was; Butterbur's big, black furry cat, who always appreciated her visits; several times he had even insisted on sharing rooms with her. Now she had to stop short to avoid stumbling over or stepping on him, spilling some broth over her hand in the process. "You rascal!" she scolded with a laugh, kneeling and putting down the tray for a moment, knowing that he wouldn't give up until she had greeted him properly. "Don't you realise what you could have done?"  
  
The cat had no regrets, however, demandingly stroking himself against her, purring loudly. Feeling the smell of the chicken broth, he eagerly started to lick her fingers; his green eyes glowing in the dim light.  
  
"Hey!" Tari giggled. "Doesn_t your master feed you enough? Oh, I'll tell him, as soon as you stop that! And scaring a poor girl like that... Mr. Butterbur clearly needs to teach you some manners!"  
  
She buried her other hand in his fur, ruffling it affectionately... but suddenly she became aware of a shadow behind her, and the cat disappeared as quickly as he had come. Rising again, she turned around in alarm.  
  
It was a man---a rather thin, slim-faced man with a stubbed beard, white streaks of gray running through it as well as his hair, which hung in filthy, tangled locks around his head. Even from a distance Tari could feel that he stank from sweat and old beer, and already before he opened his mouth, she knew what he was thinking about; she didn't even have to meet his gleaming eyes. "Just name yer price, miss," he said in a hissing voice, laughing mockingly, "and I'll lick ye in places far more pleasant..."  
  
Tari turned around again, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth, trying not to gag. Yes, she should have expected this. Why would this stay at The Prancing Pony be different from her previous ones? Men were always the same... and would remain such. From experience, she knew that she'd better just ignored him, no matter how furious she felt.   
  
Swiftly picking up the tray, she hurried toward the room again. Frodo needed her and nothing else mattered now... she could not allow herself to be distracted from being angry over some petty incident that concerned no one but herself.  
  
To her relief, her charge was still asleep when she arrived, and the room was much warmer now. Noticing that Nob had already brought her a bucket of cold water and a pile of fluffy towels and washing cloths of different sizes, she put down the tray on the bedside table, removing her own plates and putting them on the dining table before sitting on the bed beside Frodo, carefully stroking his cheek. "Frodo, dear... your ginger tea and broth are here now."  
  
Frodo whimpered softly, stirring uneasily before slowly opening his eyes, looking a bit bewildered at first. But as he met her eyes, he nodded softly.  
  
"Some tea first, perhaps?" Tari started to pour the steaming drink from the pot into a large tea cup, and Frodo nodded again. "I can manage myself," he said, slowly starting to sit up, but at the sound of his laboured breathing, Tari slid up behind him, putting an arm around his chest. "Frodo..." she said in a concerned voice, "you can hold the cup if you're feeling up to it, but you're still not well... at least allow me to support you, all right?"  
  
Resigning, Frodo nodded again. Leaning against her, he reached for the cup. His hands were shaking a little, but he could hold them stable enough to drink.  
  
"Are you in pain again?" Tari asked as she felt a wave of discomfort rush through her body when she touched his arm.  
  
Carefully sipping the tea, Frodo managed a weak smile. "Sometimes, I think you know the answers even before you ask me," he said.  
  
Tari was silent, hoping he would leave the subject. Naturally, he must have suspected something about her abilities, considering his nature and his previous contact with the elves, but yet she didn't want to discuss it with him as yet, since she was well aware that there still was a risk he could shut her out if a situation was getting too uncomfortable, particularly if he knew about her limitations. But to her relief he chose to answer her question instead. "Well..." he said, hesitating for a moment and taking a new sip of the tea before continuing. "It kind of comes and goes, I guess... but it's much better than before, really... I think I can try some of that broth now..."  
  
Tari helped him put the cup down on the bedside table and put the tray with the broth bowl on his lap. Rubbing his back lightly, she spoke to him in an encouraging voice. "I think our baths will be ready soon... that will do you good... and then you'll sleep more comfortably, no doubt, under these lovely down quilts... and tomorrow, I'm sure you'll feel so much better."  
  
"Thank you," Frodo said in a whisper, lifting the bowl and taking a cautious sip.  
  
"If you need a chamber pot, there is not only one, but three of them right here under the bed, and don't worry, I'll step out to give you privacy... and there will always be a basin nearby, in case you feel sick again.... Just promise to tell me if you're getting worse... it's nothing to be ashamed of... and I'll help you..."  
  
Frodo said nothing in reply, but took her hand, squeezing it hard.  
  
*******  
  
Tari was relieved that Frodo had actually been able to drink more than half of the broth, along with one large cup of ginger tea and some water, before announcing that he was full. She had hardly tucked him in again before he fell asleep, and as she finished her own dinner, Nob came in, carrying the promised laundry basins. "I'll bring some more water for you in a moment, miss," he said in a whisper, careful not to disturb Frodo. "And we're heating the bath water as we speak."  
  
"Good, Tari nodded with a smile. "You're the best, Nob... you better prepare the hobbits' baths first... the sooner we can tuck this one in, the better."  
  
"They'll be ready in an instant, miss," Nob promised as he slipped out again, taking the dirty plates and cups with him.  
  
Tari opened her pack, taking out her clothes and arranging them in piles to prepare them for the washing. Everything was so worn and dirty... she hoped she would find some time to mend them properly during her stay at the inn....  
  
"Time?" she heard a skeptical voice saying in the back of her head. "You're talking about time? You were supposed to be back in Ellglade two days ago already! A messenger is never late, no matter the circumstances!"  
  
"Messenger or not, there is no way I'd *ever* leave him now," Tari heard herself saying aloud. "Not until he's well again... no matter the consequences..."  
  
She reached down into her pack again and pulled out a small leather bundle from the bottom. Untying the leather straps that were bound around it, she carefully unfolded its contents: a white, long nightshirt that her foster mother had sewn for her during her last year... now saved for the rare opportunities when she was sleeping in a real bed.  
  
Humming softly, she ran her hands over the soft fabric... still clean and white, but a bit damp. Gingerly hanging it on the clothesline in front of the fire, she sat down at the bed again, beside the sleeping hobbit, gently checking his temperature and finding it was about the same. She wished that Nob would hurry up a bit now... but she hadn't even finished the thought when she heard someone at the door.  
  
Relieved, she quickly rose to greet him... but as the door slid open, her look of delight changed to fear. It was neither Nob, Merry nor someone else from the company... she was staring straight into the gleaming eyes of the man from her earlier encounter in the hallway.  
  
At once she tried to slam the door shut, but she wasn't strong enough, and the man pushed himself into the room, once again laughing scornfully, his eyes locked at her body.  
  
"What do you want?" Tari asked, trying not to look frightened, though she couldn't stop herself from backing away.  
  
"Yeah, what could I possibly want from ye, girl?" the man said, making it sound as if he was talking to a retarded child.  
  
"Get out!" Tari heard herself saying, too late realising how shrill her voice sounded.  
  
Suddenly the man's expression changed; a dark shadow come over his face, and his eyes filled with wrath. "No one ignores me like that," he hissed. "I don't like it... specially when it comes from scanty lil' girls like you... who should know better than to turn down an offer from a wealthy man!"  
  
Before Tari even had reacted, frozen with fear, the man leapt forward, grabbing her by the collar, and she felt his hideous breath against her face. "Ye should have known better, and now ye'd best give me some for free, or I'll take what's mine!"  
  
Tari tried to wring herself loose and reached into her vest pocket. Suddenly a thump was heard, followed by a high pitched hobbit voice. "Don't you *dare* touch her!"  
  
Maybe the man was actually a bit distracted by Frodo' cry, or Tari's despair had added to her strength, but finally she managed to free her right hand and slip the fingers down into her pocket, finding the wrinkled, well-worn piece of paper she always carried with her. "NO, Frodo!" she cried. "Don't you worry about me, I'll be all right, go back to bed!" Lifting her hand, she put the paper in front of the man's eyes. "Now, if you're such a wealthy man, I'm pretty sure you know what this means! I'm under protection of the council of Ellglade, Chetwood, and if you still choose to lay your hand on me, believe me, you will suffer the consequences. And trust me, they will find out!"  
  
She could have wept with relief when the man slowly released his grip around her collar, actually appearing to read the text on the paper. Once again, he laughed mockingly at her, but this time, there was evidently a degree of insecurity behind the laughter. Finally turning his gaze from Tari, his eyes fell on Frodo, who was now standing by the bed, supporting himself with one hand resting on the edge of it; the other one holding his now unsheathed sword. His eyes were burning with rage. "You heard what she said. Get out. Now!"  
  
The man laughed again. "A *halfling*?! And a rather poor excuse for a one at that, I see..."  
  
"Get out," Tari repeated.  
  
"You heard her!" Frodo said, and Tari gave the hobbit a pleading look... the hand that held the sword was swaying a little--he had better lie down again, and that soon.   
  
"All right, all right..." the man said, lifting his hands and starting to back off. "I'll go, and leave ye two alone..."  
  
As soon as he had backed out into the hallway, Tari slammed the door shut, locking it from inside. She could hear the man laughing once again. "Oh, dear me... a halfling!" Then everything was silent.  
  
Tari turned around, hurrying toward the bed. Frodo had put the sword back into its hilt now, letting it sink to the floor. He looked unsteady and didn't object when Tari swept him up, once again helping him to lie down on the bed. "Oh Frodo," she said, fighting hard against the tears, "you shouldn't have interfered... I'm so... I'm so sorry... I should have been more careful... but it's never been *this* bad before... are you all right?"  
  
Suddenly struggling to sit up again, Frodo's eyes met hers, and they were still burning with rage. "No! I'm *not* all right, I'm furious! No one should be treating you like that! Not even the most loathsome creatures of Middle-earth deserve to be spoken to in that manner! And you... after all you've done..."  
  
"But it's all right now, Frodo... he won't disturb us again... try to relax now..."  
  
"It's not all right until that man has been thrown out from this inn, and if you don't pull that string and call for Butterbur to see to it right now, I'll call for him myself. There is no way I will allow anyone to treat you that way!"  
  
Carefully Frodo lifted his arms to embrace her, and Tari put her arms around him, gently rubbing his back, feeling his hands rubbing hers. "Thank you..." she whispered. "I'll see to it, I promise... as soon as Nob comes back, I'll let him now... but don't you worry about that now... just try to relax ..."  
  
A few moments later, a loud knock was heard on the door, and they both winced.  
  
"Who's there?!" Tari shouted, feeling her heart beating hard.  
  
"It's just us, miss," she heard Nob's voice from outside. "Me and Mr. Brandybuck... are you all right, miss? We heard some kind of commotion."  
  
Tari opened the door for them, and before she had even opened her mouth, Frodo told them the whole story. Nob visibly paled, and promising to notify his master at once, he hurried away down the hall. Merry clenched his fists in wrath, speaking in the same manner that Frodo just had.  
  
"All right," Tari said, once again managing to suppress her feelings. "What has happened has happened... and we can't change that, but it won't happen again, and we have far more important matters to tend to now."  
  
Merry nodded. "You're right. I was just going to tell you that your bath is ready now, Frodo..."  
  
"Thank you," Frodo said. To Tari's concern, his voice sounded much weaker than it had a few moments ago.  
  
"I'll help you there, then," she said, preparing to lift him, but suddenly paling, he rose a hand to prevent her.  
  
"Frodo! What's the matter?" she nearly shouted when her small charge curled up, clutching his stomach, his eyes tightly shut.  
  
"It- it will pass..." Frodo gasped. "It- it's j-just a cramp... It will b-be over in a m-moment..."  
  
Tari put her hand on his sweaty brow... and thankfully, just a few moments later, she felt him relax again. "There now..." she soothed. "Now, how about that bath?"  
  
Frodo nodded weakly in response and let her lift him, resting his head against her chest as they started walking down the hall. "Don't blame yourself for this, Tari," he whispered. "I felt it coming already when I woke... perhaps I shouldn't have eaten that broth..." He paused a moment, swallowing hard before continuing. "You've been wonderful to me... though I don't deserve it at all..."  
  
Tari had no chance to reply, since they now had reached the hobbits' room. She couldn't help but smile as they entered... this room must be one of the most cosy rooms she had ever seen. A bright, warm fire was burning on the hearth, and along the longest wall there were four hobbit beds with fluffy pillows and thick covers. In the middle of the floor, four hobbit-sized tubs were waiting; the steam rising from the water making them look very inviting. Sam was kneeling beside a fifth, smaller tub, apparently preparing the hobbits' clothes for washing as well.   
  
Pippin was sitting on a chair close to the fire, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his middle, obviously impatiently waiting for his bath. But as Tari entered, they both rose to greet her.  
  
"Hullo, Frodo!" Pippin said, sounding as cheerful as ever, but Tari saw that he was frowning in concern as he continued. "How are you?"  
  
Sam did not speak, but his eyes were asking the same question, waiting for his master to reply.  
  
"It's not that bad," Frodo said as Tari lowered him down on one of the beds. "I'm very tired though..." It looked indeed as if he had to use all his strength to keep his eyes open.  
  
"I'll come back in a little while," Tari promised, "and then you'll sleep... under those soft, warm down quilts, and perhaps with some hot-water bottles as well, and some extra blankets if you still feel cold..."  
  
Frodo nodded, smiling slightly and closing his eyes. But suddenly, they flung open again, and he looked at Sam. "I'm sorry, Sam..." he said apologetically, "I totally forgot to ask... how was old Bill?"  
  
While Sam delightedly started to tell his master about his happy reunification with the pony, not leaving out a single detail, he carefully began to remove Frodo's cloak and outer clothing. Tari stroked Frodo's hair and patted his shoulder lightly before she headed for the door again. Before opening it, she quietly gestured to Merry, indicating that she would like to have a word with him. "One last thing," she said in a quiet voice. "I'm afraid Frodo's developing a slight fever... you better not make that bath water too hot... just warm enough so he'll feel comfortable..."   
  
Merry nodded. "I'll see to that. And I'll come and get you in about half an hour... I guess we'll all be ready then... and he can rest here meanwhile."  
  
"Half an hour sounds fine... Later then!"  
  
Smiling, Tari shut the door behind her, casting a last look at her ailing hobbit charge, once again deeply moved by the affection his ever loyal servant was showing him.  
  
*******  
  
As Tari came back to her room, she was surprised to find that Butterbur and Gandalf were waiting for her, both looking rather upset. "Miss Tari," the innkeeper said, "I am truly sorry to hear about what happened to you---never has such a thing happened in my time, what are we coming to? I've found the man who did this to you, and take my word for it, he'll never, ever set foot in this inn again!"  
  
"Are you all right?" the wizard asked, his gray eyes full of concern and pity.  
  
"Yes, I am perfectly all right, thank you," Tari answered, but felt unable to hold his eyes, looking down, hoping that they would leave the subject as quickly as possible. "I'm worried about Frodo though... he's still not well..."  
  
"Your concern for the hobbit is touching, and we are all *very* grateful for your presence," the wizard said in his deep voice. "But you had better not neglect yourself."  
  
Tari remained silent, still looking down.  
  
"If there is anything we can do for you, miss, to compensate for this discomfort... anything at all... just name it, and we will do it for you," Butterbur promised, and Tari noticed that his brow was breaking out into a sweat. "Thank you, Mr. Butterbur," she said. "I need nothing more at present than what Nob has already promised to bring me, but if there is anything else, I promise I will let you know."  
  
"I hope you do," Butterbur said. "Once again, let me say how terribly sorry I am..."  
  
At the same moment Nob suddenly appeared again, carrying two buckets of water. "Well, Miss Tari..." he said, wiping his forehead, "that were the last two buckets, I think... now you'll have enough for both bath and washing... and if you need anything else, just call for me... I can come back to take out the tubs within an hour or so, if you wish..."  
  
"Thank you Nob," Tari said, "but you've done enough already; you had better get some rest now. The tubs can wait until tomorrow."  
  
Nob thanked her and wished her a good night before he hurried out in the hallway again.  
  
"You have a good servant, Mr. Butterbur," Tari said, and the innkeeper smiled. "And you certainly have a way with hobbits, I'd say, Miss Tari!"   
  
Tari had to stifle a laugh, and Gandalf chuckled. "So we have noticed..."  
  
"Well, Miss Tari, we won't disturb you no more," Butterbur said, "But I say this once again---if there's anything we can do for you, don't hesitate to call for us! And tell Mr. Baggins that we all hope he'll be feeling better tomorrow. Good night and sleep well!"  
  
"Yes," Gandalf filled in, "please tell him that we do, and should he grow worse, or ask for me, I will sit in the parlour with Butterbur."  
  
Tari nodded. "Good night to you too. I'll let him know."  
  
Closing the door behind them, Tari put her hands over her face, sighing deeply. If it had not been for the treaty...  
  
Slowly starting to undress, she tried to wipe out the memories of the man's gleaming eyes. Why was she born a woman, and an orphan at that? As soon as she parted with this company, everything would be just as it was before... no one would care about her at all, their only concern would be if she delivered her messages in time, and she wouldn't have anyone to care for either...  
  
She sank down into the tub, feeling the warm, soapy water against her skin, like the touch of soothing hands gently stroking her limbs. Unable to hold back any longer, she allowed her tears to run freely.  
  
The treaty was the only thing that she would have left---the only thing that made her different from an outlaw. Without it, she would be free for anyone to rob and abuse, or kill, for that matter, if they felt like it. Yet, she was risking it all to help Frodo... and despite her healing skills, she knew she was failing miserably. She could have been more careful and observant. She could have locked the door behind her, as she usually did... and she could at least have tried to keep her voice down. No matter what Frodo said, his recent relapse had undoubtedly been provoked by his attempt to defend her from the attacker. What if his condition was worsening now, just because of the incident?  
  
She should have known better than to get emotionally involved with anyone or anything. During her years as a messenger, she had only been severely delayed on two occasions, both due to the weather, but nevertheless, she had not been pardoned. Once, she had not even been given half the promised payment for her task, which had made her next message delivery far more difficult, since she had not been able to afford any provisions for the road, but had to live on what the forest could provide her... which always meant more detours for hunting trips and to gather berries or herbs. The second time, she had not been offered a new delivery for several weeks... which had essentially put her in the same situation. And yet, on those occasions she had not been delayed for more than a day. Now, they had already been expecting her for three days.  
  
She had heard rumours about messengers who got their horses taken away from them as a consequence for disobedience against the council. And there was no doubt she would be in for a grave penalty this time, even though none of the messages she carried were particularly urgent; mostly concerning the exchange of goods between the villages that had business with Ellglade, for next year's crop. The news she had been given about the return of the King and that better times would follow ahead would be appreciated, no doubt, but they would hardly matter in the long run.  
  
So what would she ultimately gain from this? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Poor Frodo would suffer for her naivete, and she was risking the only safety that ever would be offered to her as a woman in a man's world... she had to leave. First thing in the morning. Frodo's cousins and servant had been taking care of him all the way to Mount Doom and back... and were perfectly able to do so even now... it was only her feelings for him that had made her believe that she actually would be able to make a difference... she must break free from this illusion. Besides, no one would expect her to stay longer than necessary... even Frodo would understand the importance of her duties.  
  
With the decision made, she suddenly felt much better... once again able to take control over her emotions. No, there was no time for self pity now... tomorrow, she would be a messenger again, but until then, she had promised to take care of Frodo, and she couldn't neglect him. But only until then... after that she had to cut off all emotional ties to him, no matter if he was well or not.  
  
After carefully rubbing every part of her body and washing her hair, so thoroughly that her scalp was burning, Tari finished her bath and turned her attention to the laundry. Nob had been very generous with the soap, and it was very satisfying to see the dirt escaping from the clothes. Suddenly she realised that she was once again humming softly... a simple but beautiful melancholic tune mingled with the sound of the water.  
  
*******  
  
Just as Tari had finished the laundry and put the clothes to dry on the clotheslines (along with the quilts from the bed that also were a bit damp) and put a water pot on the stand over the fire for heating, there was another knock at the door, and Merry, his hair still wet from the bath, entered the room. Tari immediately noticed that something was bothering him. "How is Frodo?" she asked, even before greeting him.  
  
"Well... as soon as he can get to bed, the better, I think..." Merry was frowning in concern. "I'm afraid he's getting worse... right after you left he had to use the chamber pot... and the pain appears to be returning; he couldn't even get comfortable in the bath, though he said it felt soothing when we lowered him down. He asked us to hurry... and now he's falling asleep again, thankfully... he was clutching his belly again, as he did before..."  
  
"We had better hurry then." Tari quickly followed Merry out into the hallway, wasting no further time on conversation.  
  
Entering the hobbits' room, Tari found Frodo asleep on the bed closest to the fire, wrapped in several blankets. Sam was at his side, and Pippin sat on the closest bed, legs pulled up, his nightshirt several inches too short, exposing his furry feet. Tari noticed that Sam was keeping a basin close to the bed. "He's not feeling too well, I'm afraid..." he whispered as Tari knelt down, once again checking Frodo's temperature. He felt much warmer to the touch now, though she could not yet be certain if it was due to the bath or if his fever was increasing. He whimpered softly, curling up more tightly.  
  
"Frodo, dear..." Tari sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully easing the ailing hobbit up onto her lap, preparing to lift him. Moaning softly, she felt his body go limp again. "There now," she soothed. "We'll get you all comfortable now... so much better..."  
  
Moving carefully, holding Frodo as still as possible, Tari made it back to her own room, the other hobbits anxiously following her. Cautiously she put Frodo down on the bed, covering him with one of the quilts and placing his head on one of the soft pillows. At once he curled up, facing the wall, a soft sigh escaping his trembling lips. The other hobbits each crept up on the bed in turns, wishing him good night, gently kissing his brow. "T-thank you..." he managed to say in a weak whisper.  
  
Sam put a small bundle on the top of the drawer. "I brought a spare nightshirt in case Mr. Frodo needs it," he said in a quiet voice. Tari thanked him for his concern and followed the hobbits to the door. "Don't let your worry keep you from sleeping," she said. "You all need rest... and Frodo will probably feel much better tomorrow---if he does not, we will send for a healer, who perhaps can offer him some other medicines to settle his stomach."  
  
The other hobbits nodded. Tari embraced them all, one by one, wishing them a good night and using the opportunity to pour some comfort and calm into each of them.  
  
Closing the door again, Tari quickly returned to her ailing charge. "Frodo..." She gently stroked his damp curls. "I'm sorry, but I have to keep you from sleeping for a little while longer... how are you feeling?"  
  
"Have been better..." Frodo whispered in reply. "But I'll manage... just need some sleep, I think... and I hope that my stomach will give up this knotting,..." He grimaced in pain, curling up more tightly.  
  
"There now..." Tari put both her hands on his forehead, once again concentrating hard. "Do you think you can manage a few more sips of that ginger tea? Perhaps it will help a little..."  
  
Frodo sighed, swallowing hard, but to Tari's relief, he agreed to try. This time he was unable to hold the cup by himself, and she had to support him. He had not taken many sips, though, when he pushed away her hand holding the cup. "N-no more, please..." he said, pleadingly looking at her with bright eyes glassy from the fever.   
  
"Are you feeling sick again?" Tari slowly eased him down, gently rubbing his back.  
  
Frodo nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I-I'll be ill if I try to drink something more at the moment..."  
  
"Poor dear... Yes, you'd better sleep then... I'll keep a basin here, right between us, and the chamber pot is under the bed... If you need anything, I'll be here... lying right next to you..."  
  
Frodo nodded, and Tari rose once again. Quickly changing into her night gown, she poured the remaining water she had warmed for the ginger tea into a hot-water bottle. Carefully lifting Frodo's quilt, she placed the bottle against his stomach, and he drew a deep sigh of relief, nestling it close. After tucking him in more properly and placing an extra blanket above the quilt, she rose once more to fetch one of the smaller washing cloths, pouring some cold water over it before folding it and returning to the small bundle of hobbit. Stroking away his damp curls, she placed the compress on his forehead. "There now... much better, isn't it? Do you think you can sleep now?"  
  
Frodo nodded. "Thank you..." he managed in a weak whisper.  
  
Tari took her own quilt from the clothesline, and after putting another few logs on the fire, she sank down on the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She reached out for the lamp on the bedside table and started to turn it down... but was interrupted by a sudden whimper from Frodo. "Tari... please..."  
  
"What is it?" Tari asked in alarm.  
  
"Could you please... leave it?" Frodo pleaded, his voice trailing off.  
  
"Naturally..."  
  
Turning up the light again, her heart burning with pity, she leaned over to Frodo's side of the bed, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead right under the compress and tucking him in more tightly, rubbing his back through the blankets. Putting her hands on his cheek, she used all her force available as she tried to ease his pain.  
  
As soon as his breathing slowed, indicating that he was asleep, she withdrew her hands and returned to her own pillow. At first she had planned to stay awake and watch him... but as she lay down, she realised how exhausted she felt---there was no way she would be able to stay awake...  
  
Drawing in the wonderful scents of a warm, clean bed and listening to Frodo's sleeping breaths, she felt the world fading around her, and despite everything that had happened, turning into a serene dream, far from all the troubles of the waking world.   
  
  
**To be continued....**


	7. Night

**THE HEART OF A HEALER  
**By Tangelian Proudfoot  
  
  
  
*******  


  
  


Author's Note:  
  
I don't own any of the characters or places, they are all property of the Tolkien Estate, except for Tari, her horse Trifas and some minor characters over at the Prancing Pony, who were not mentioned in The Lord of the Rings. I don't make any money or profit whatsoever from my writing, I write simply because of my love of storytelling and the Lord of the Rings.  
  
Special note on chapter 7: Though not as graphic as some of the fics posted on Frodo Healers, this chapter is a bit more graphic than my usual style. If you're sensitive to stomach ailments with all of it symptoms, I don't recommend you to read on. Consider yourself warned! ;-)  
  
English is not my mother tongue, so please be kind if my grammar is not 100% correct. You are free to notify me of any errors, however, please do it in a nice way, or I'll lose my confidence. ;-)  
  
*Lots* of thanks and hugs for (my proof reader), and for all my dear reviewers!  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
**7. Night**  
  
Cold... His whole body was stiff with cold, as if chilled to the bone...  
Slowly he opened his eyes... only to find himself surrounded by an even more impenetrable darkness, as if he had gone blind... the air itself was nothing but a massive blackness, only reluctantly allowing him to draw it into his lungs.  
  
Then suddenly, the silence was broken by a sound... a sound that made him freeze in fear. Battle. Steel against steel, high pitched screams, and the sickening thuds of bodies falling lifeless to the ground.  
  
Covering his ears, he curled up into a ball, his stomach burning and twisting with pain. He felt his knee scraping against something in the darkness and knew immediately what it was... a damp, cold wall of stone... and despite his efforts, the sounds were just getting louder, coming closer...  
  
"No... please..." he pleaded in a silent whisper. "Please, leave me alone... just let me sleep."  
  
But all of a sudden, he could hear a voice speaking to him from far away. "Frodo... Frodo, it's all right... I  
I'm right here, right here with you... just try to sleep now..."  
  
He could have cried with relief. "Tari..." he said in a quivering whisper. "Where are you? Why is it so dark in here?"  
  
"I'm right behind you, Frodo, dear," Tari's soft voice answered him, now appearing to get closer. "Just reach out your hand, and you'll see... there is nothing to be afraid of... I'm right here with you."  
  
Barely able to control his shivering limbs, he finally managed to roll over, his stomach reeling in protest. Slowly, he reached out a trembling hand in the direction of the voice and sighed in relief when he felt her slender fingers clasping his.  
  
But then a cold wind swept through the room, and he could feel it coming... starting as a faint hiss, escalating into an ear piercing, high pitched shriek... and suddenly, the hand that was clutching his was becoming visible, as if illuminated by a pale, hidden lamp. Though it was no longer the slender hand of his caretaker...  
  
Desperately, he struggled to get free, but its grip only tightened, its foul claws cutting into his skin. And as the air filled with scorning laughter, he could feel the smell washing over him again ... the putrid stench of old orc-draught, old vomit, and filth.  
  
***  
  
"Frodo... Frodo, dear..."  
  
Tari had been awoken by a loud whimper escaping her ailing charge, and it was obvious that he was now caught in a nightmare; tossing and turning while murmuring things unintelligible. The compress had slid down and was now covering his eyes. Nestling her hand up under the blanket, carefully rubbing his back and trying to wake him, Tari found that Frodo's nightshirt was damp with perspiration. "Frodo, it's just a nightmare... you have to wake up... there now..."  
  
But at her touch, Frodo's back arched, and a split second later, he sat up abruptly with a cry, the compress dropping down into his lap. Tari carefully lifted her arm to put it around his shoulders, but to her dismay the hobbit pulled away, his eyes wide with fear and bewilderment. "N-no!!" he cried, his voice cracking and his breathing so rapid and shallow that he hardly appeared to get any air at all. "Go away!!! L-leave me alone!!!"  
  
Thrashing wildly, Frodo sent the basin flying through the air, and it hit the footboard with a clanking sound. "D-don't touch me..." he wailed, pushing himself further away from her.  
  
"Frodo..." Tari repeated. "It's all right... no one's going to hurt you... it's just you and I here... nothing is going to happen to you... easy now, it was just a nightmare..."  
  
But the terrified hobbit did not even appeared to have heard her. Huddling in the corner of the bed, he pulled his legs up tightly against his stomach, his face a mask of fear; his eyes gleaming in the light from the bedside lamp.  
  
"Frodo..."  
  
"No..." Frodo said in a weak voice, looking at her pleadingly, obviously seeing one of the hideous creatures from his nightmares in her place. Tari felt utterly helpless, knowing that there was little she could do until his confusion wore off but to continue talking soothingly, hoping that he eventually would hear her and allow her to comfort him. But then, all of a sudden, he stiffened, clutching his stomach. Drawing a trembling breath, he let out a long, agonized cry, his eyes rolling upward as his head dropped forward and he sagged.  
  
Quickly uncurling his limp body, Tari placed him on his back. Turning his head aside, she elevated his legs and retrieved the basin again, placing it beside him. To her relief, just a few moments passed before the hobbit stirred, whimpering in pain; his eyes still closed, and his breathing once again becoming more rapid as he returned to consciousness.  
  
Ripping off the top blanket from Frodo's pile of covers, Tari hurriedly swept it around him and carefully eased him up on her lap, talking in a low and soothing voice. Frodo only let out a weak moan in protest as she cautiously rose, his body still limp. With swift feet she carried him over to the window, quickly pulling the curtains aside and pushing it open. She felt his body shivering as a rush of night air greeted them. The rain had now ceased, and as the clouds escaped, the temperature had dropped below the freezing point.  
  
"It's all right, Frodo..." Tari said, gingerly easing the ailing hobbit out over the window frame and leaning him forward, supporting his head and his upper body with a hand on his forehead while the other arm softly wrapped around his chest, carefully avoiding his stomach. "I know it's cold, dear, and we'll tuck you back in in a moment... just try to take a few breaths... it will make you feel so much better... try to breathe now... deep breaths."  
  
As Frodo's vision slowly cleared, he at first had no idea of where he was or what was going on, remembering only fragments of what had just happened. His whole body ached and he was shivering with cold... but worst of all was his stomach... it felt as if someone had been kicking him in the middle of it. The throbbing pain was close to unbearable. The tangled mess of grass underneath him was all covered with frost, glistening in the pale moonlight, blurring his vision.  
  
"Breathe, Frodo," Tari repeated.  
  
Frodo tried to comply, so grateful for her presence that he could have wept... but yet, he could not fight back the feelings of guilt. He was always so much trouble... if it had not been for him, Tari would have spent her only night for weeks in a bed sleeping, lost in peaceful dreams... and now he was ruining it all. Maybe the other hobbits were having difficulties sleeping as well, just because they were worrying about him  
  
Suddenly a wave of nausea swept over him, and he felt his hands grabbing the window frame as he swallowed profusely, shutting his eyes tightly, desperately trying to fight it off.  
  
Feeling Frodo tense and sensing his discomfort, Tari carefully tightened her grip around his chest, moving in closer to be able to hold him steady. "It's all right," she said, feeling his brow breaking into a sweat. "Don't fight it... just let it come up, if you need to... keep breathing..."  
  
Feeling another wave of nausea coming on, Frodo drew a shuddering breath... but this time he didn't have the strength to quell it. White spears of pain rushed through his stomach as he felt it tighten, trying to reject its contents. This attempt didn't bring up much, though, merely just some air and a mouthful of saliva, making his throat burn as if it was on fire.  
  
"Shhh..." Tari soothed. "Just breathe... let it come up..."  
  
A few moments later, the hobbit heaved once again, this time with more force. The sweat was trickling into his eyes, making them sting, and the sickening sound of the vomit splattering against the ground was feeding his urge to retch, as his stomach contracted over and over again.  
Tari did her best to comfort him, but each time his body convulsed, the pain was so intense it almost made him wish to pass out again.  
  
When it finally ended Frodo had lost all track of time. Limply he allowed Tari to pull him back inside and close the window.  
  
"Poor boy," she soothed, cradling him close as she carried him back to the bed. He was still breathing in uneven gasps and shuddering from the aftershocks, his head leaning heavily against her chest.  
  
Putting both pillows behind his back, she placed him in a semi-reclined position against the headboard, gently stroking his wet curls before walking over to the fire to fetch a glass of lukewarm water and the pile of washing cloths and towels. As she carefully helped him to rinse his mouth, the ailing hobbit remained silent, avoiding her eyes as if feeling ashamed.  
  
"There now, Frodo," she began, pouring some cold water from the pitcher over a washing cloth and gingerly wiping his brow, his eyes, and finally his mouth. "You'll feel much better now when you've got rid of that, you'll see... does it still hurt?"  
  
Frodo nodded weakly, but had no strength to reply; he could hardly hold his head up. But then, at the same moment, he felt his insides twisting again... no... please.... He clenched his teeth, trying to control himself... but it was going to be a losing battle, he had to go....  
  
"What's the matter?" Tari asked in alarm before he had even opened his mouth.  
  
"Chamber pot," he managed in a weak whisper, still unable to meet her eyes.  
  
Before he even had finished the sentence, Tari had reached under the bed and brought out the chamber pot. Carefully easing her ailing charge from the pillows, she knelt down on the floor, lifting his nightshirt a little so he could sit down.  
  
"I know I promised I'd step out," Tari began in an apologetic voice, "but I think you'd better..."  
  
"I-I know..." Frodo managed weakly through his clenched teeth. "I'm so sorry, but..."  
  
"Nothing to be sorry about, dear, you can't control it."  
  
Gently supporting Frodo's shivering body, encouraging him to lean against her, Tari rubbed his tiny back while her free hand soon found his left, waiting for the bout to pass. When it finally did, his head sagged again, and he started shivering violently, the nightshirt now soaked with perspiration.  
  
"Poor boy..." Tari's voice quivered with compassion as she kept on rubbing his back in wide, circular motions. "We'll tuck you in right away now... but I think we'd better clean you up a bit before... to make you more comfortable.... Is it all right for me to remove your nightshirt?"  
  
Frodo managed a weak nod, allowing Tari to unbutton the nightshirt and pull it over his head. The fabric was so damp that she had to turn it inside out to unstick it from his arms. Putting the covers aside, she unfolded one of the large towels and laid it on the bed. Gingerly she lifted the shivering hobbit from the chamber pot and positioned him on his side, lying on the towel. Soon Frodo could feel the touch of a soft, damp washing cloth against his skin, and suddenly he realised that his eyes were threatening to run over. Swallowing hard, his throat dry and aching, he tried to fight it off.  
  
Beginning with his backside, carefully washing her hands and changing cloths afterward, Tari tenderly stroke her small charge's trembling limbs while humming a soft, soothing tune.  
  
He looked so fragile... as if he had been suffering from a long, consuming illness... his body so thin that she could feel the gaps between the ribs even through the fabric of the washing cloth, and his skin was so pale that it reminded her of porcelain. Only his stomach had a slight roundness to it... but it looked highly unnatural---no doubt it was a side effect from the illness.  
  
Softly turning him over on his back, Tari began to work her way down his chest. Noticing that he still avoided looking at her, she paused for a moment, gently placing her free hand on his forehead, entangling her fingers into the damp curls. Frodo sighed slightly, closing his eyes. "I-1'm so s-sorry..." he managed in a faint whisper.  
  
"Frodo, dearest," Tari repeated, carefully beginning to stroke the upper part of his belly. "You can't help it... it's all right..."  
  
But even the touch of the cloth on the swollen area made him gasp with pain, and Tari quickly withdrew her hand. "There now..." she said, suddenly hesitating for a brief moment and biting her lower lip before making her decision. Hanging the washing cloth on the edge of the basin, she sat down on the bed beside her ailing charge, and closing her eyes, she lifted both of her hands, placing them over his stomach and gingerly lowering them down so they barely touched his skin. Using all her force and energy, she focused on removing the pain. By now, Frodo must have figured out about her abilities... though it didn't matter, it didn't matter at all---she could not bear to see him suffer. But the pain ran deep, and she was nearly spent when she finally felt it easing off a bit.  
  
At the same moment, she sensed a wave of emotions rushing through her small charge's body as he drew a shivering breath and suddenly began to shake with sobs. Breaking her concentration at once, she removed her hands, easing him up on her lap, rocking him slowly while rubbing his back, as if he had been a small child.  
  
"Your only n-night in a b-bed..." he started in a trembling whisper. "And I r-ruined it... I r-ruined it all... I'm so sorry a-... about everything..."  
  
"Oh no, Frodo." Tari tightened her embrace around his small, shivering frame. "I said I was going to take care of you, no matter what... and I will."  
  
"B-but I don't d-deserve it..." Frodo suddenly stiffened, as if he was about to pull out of her embrace. "If you knew wh-what I have done you'd-you'd never care about me... p-please l-leave me... p-please... just go... I d-don't deserve this..."  
  
But Tari just held him, softly kissing the top of his head. "Oh, dearest," she whispered, feeling the tears sting behind her own eyelids. "It doesn't change anything... it doesn't change anything..."  
  
Overcome with weariness, the shivering hobbit finally sagged in her arms, sobbing helplessly into her nightgown. Tari stroke his damp curls, rocking him gently while talking soothingly and rubbing his back until the sobs slowly subsided and his breaths became longer and deeper.  
"There now, Frodo," she whispered softly into his ear. "We'll just tuck you in now... and then you'll sleep so much better... there now..."  
  
Slowly putting him down again and placing his head on his pillow, she reached out for the spare nightshirt. Frodo was absolutely limp when she helped him get dressed, but he appeared to be just exhausted now---no longer in severe pain. She had hoped she would be able to coax him into drinking a little bit more of the ginger tea, but in his state of fatigue it would probably be better for him to go back to sleep as soon as possible.  
  
Preparing another cold compress and putting it on his forehead, Tari emptied the water from the basin and made sure that it would be well within reach should Frodo need it again. Then she swiftly refilled the hot-water bottle, once again placing it against his belly. At once Frodo snuggled it close, curling up around it to absorb its warmth.  
  
"Aww, dear," Tari said, her voice filled with pity as she sat down on the bed, gingerly rubbing the ailing hobbit's back. Whimpering softly, he moved a little closer, welcoming her hands. Reaching out for the blankets, Tari lay herself down. "Come Frodo," she said, tenderly putting her arm around his back, softly pulling him closer and encouraging him to lean his head against her chest. "It's all right," she whispered. "You can sleep here, if you want to."  
  
Frodo managed a tiny nod, and as Tari pulled the blankets all the way up to his head, tucking them both in, she could feel him grasping for her hand. Taking his small, cold fingers between hers, she put her other arm around his back again, under the blanket. "There now, Frodo, just try to sleep now... everything will be all right."  
  
A small sob escaped her tiny charge as he buried his face into her nightgown once again... but soon Tari felt him relax; his grip around her hand loosening a little and the shivering subsiding as he sank into blessed sleep.  
  
Suddenly overcome with weariness herself, Tari realised that she would gain nothing by fighting it. The healing process had drained her of all energy, and it was going to take much more... if she was going to be able to help Frodo further.  
  
But even as the waking world faded into a dream world, her ailing charge was still with her, cradled in her comforting arms.  
  
*******  
  
Once again Frodo woke with a start. This time, however, he had no memories of dark dreams, and the pain in his stomach seemed to have eased a little. Feeling Tari's arm tighten a little around his back, stroking it softly, he lay down again, trying to fall asleep... but suddenly, he felt a wave of dizziness sweeping over him... and an instant later, his stomach rebelled. Sitting up abruptly, he tried to reach for the basin, but the room spun so violently that he lost all sense of direction... and though he tried to hold it back, it was useless. Soon he felt the vomit rising in his throat and an instant later he was retching again. But before he knew it, he felt Tari's hand supporting his forehead... and looking down, he saw that the basin had been placed in front of him. He had not even soiled the bedclothes.  
  
Talking soothingly, Tari helped the ailing hobbit through the fit, gently cleaning him up afterward, preparing to tuck him back in. Once again Frodo was shivering with cold, and due to the vomiting, the pain had now returned, his stomach twisting in agony. Without a word he allowed Tari to lay her hands over the center of the pain, grateful beyond words for her presence.  
  
Curling up, he waited for her to lay down beside him... but even though she had removed her hands from his belly now, she just sat there, softly rubbing his back.  
  
"Dearest..." she said in a soft voice, "I think you'd better try to drink some of that ginger tea... to see if it can help your stomach."  
  
Frodo managed a soft nod, his eyes closed and his lips trembling. He still felt sick, but also very thirsty, and the thought of the warm, sweet ginger tea going down his raw throat was so soothing...  
  
"Good..." Tari said, and Frodo could hear that she was smiling in relief as she rose. Then he must have dozied off for a moment, because the next thing he knew she was sitting beside him again, gently putting her arm around his back to help him sit up and holding the cup to his lips.  
  
Frodo drank in slow sips... oh, it really felt wonderful and he wanted to finish the whole cup. The more he drank, the more he realised how thirsty he was... but suddenly he felt his stomach turning and firmly pushed the cup away, shaking his head. "I..." He drew a deep breath. "I'm s-so sorry, Tari, but I think... I d-don't think I can k-keep it..."  
  
Before he had even finished the sentence, Tari had reached out for the basin, and helping him lean forward, she supported him with a hand on his forehead.  
  
But nothing came up. His stomach knotted and rolled in discomfort, and he wished he could have retched, just to get rid of it, but nothing happened. Tari was doing her best to comfort him and pour some calm into him, but there appeared to be little she could do to stop the nausea.  
Drawing a deep breath, Frodo finally gave in to exhaustion, and with a soft whimper, he sagged in her arms, soundly asleep.  
  
Still talking to him in a low, soothing voice and rubbing his chest, Tari put the basin aside, gently hugging the ailing hobbit to her chest. Carefully easing him down, she wiped his forehead with a wet cloth before lying down next to him, once again encouraging him to nestle up against her. It didn't take long until they were both asleep again, Tari's arm still around her little charge's back.   
  
*******  
  
This time Frodo awoke slowly. He realised he must have been sleeping for a while, for now, the first gray hints of dawn were becoming visible through the curtains. His head pounded, he still felt sick and feverish, and all he wanted was to go back to sleep. Maybe he *should* be embarrassed about the situation... to be treated like a helpless child... oh, he was so selfish... but no, he was too ill to care now, and for the moment, he wished for nothing more than to be cradled in Tari's comforting arms...  
  
But suddenly, he felt his bowels twisting again, with such force that he feared he was going to soil the bedding, and he sat up with a moan, desperately trying to gain control of it. Tari was awake in an instant, and immediately understanding what was going on, she quickly brought out the chamber pot from underneath the bed, helping him sit. Sobbing with relief, Frodo gave in to the urge, waiting for the attack to pass. Tari supported him gently, kneeling on the cold floor, not caring the least about the stench.  
  
Then, all of a sudden, he felt another urge returning... and before he even knew what was going on, his stomach tightened. He only managed to lean over to the other side before he retched; the remains of the ginger tea splashing against the wooden floor, soiling his foot and the edge of the nightshirt.  
  
Grasping for the basin, Tari tried her best to comfort the ailing hobbit, helping him avoid getting further soiled. When she finally reached it and was able to place it in front of him, he was nearly finished. The retching only brought up a small amount of greenish fluid before giving over to dry heaves that appeared to last for long minutes.  
  
"Oh, poor dear..." Tari soothed, offering him a glass of lukewarm water to rinse his mouth. Frodo was so exhausted that he barely had the strength to suck it in; his eyes still half closed. But suddenly he stiffened, looking anxiously at the mess on the floor. "Tari..." he whimpered, still breathing heavily. "I'm s-so sorry, I d-didn't know... I w-will take care of it..."  
  
"Oh no, Frodo... it's all right... don't you worry about that... you can't help it, dear." Stroking Frodo's hair reassuringly, Tari carefully started helping him out of the nightshirt. "Let's just get you cleaned up now... there now..."  
  
She unfolded a towel over the sheets and placed him on the bed, once again positioning him on his side. After quickly cleaning the floor and emptying and rinsing the basin (pouring its contents out the window), she sponged him down again. He still felt hot to the touch, and though he wasn't sobbing, Tari knew he was crying in silence, his head turned aside.  
  
He had at least been able to keep a little of the ginger tea, Tari mused. She would have to try coaxing him into taking some more fluids or he would face the risk of dehydration. The pain appeared to have eased a bit now, but she still got a sense of severe discomfort when she touched him. She put on another pot of water to boil, adding some new pieces of the candy-smelling ginger roots to it. Preparing another hot-water bottle, she returned to the hobbit once again... suddenly realising that they now had run out of nightshirts. The best thing for him would probably be to tuck him in with nothing but blankets and cowers; if he suffered another violent bout of vomiting, he would most likely get soaked in sweat, and if left with nothing on, it would be much easier to quickly sponge him down afterward, making him more comfortable. But all the same... he would probably find it very embarrassing, and the situation was humiliating enough as it was.  
  
Temporarily covering the hobbit with a blanket, she returned to the hearth, eyeing the clothes hanging on the clothesline; the dancing shadows of the fire covering them with warm, dynamic patterns. After pouring up the ginger tea in a cup and waiting for it to cool, she decided on one of her longer chemises and took it down from the line. It had been mended in many places and once, long ago, it had been beautifully amber-coloured, though now it looked gray and worn out. But it was clean, at least, and the fabric was rather thin... and most importantly, it would be long enough to reach down to just above his knees.   
She placed the cup on the nightstand, gently stripping the blanket from the little bundle of hobbit, entangling her hand into his curls. "Frodo..." she whispered softly, and he stirred a little. "I'm sorry, but we're out of nightshirts now. I'm afraid your spare one was soaked as well... so if you don't mind, you can borrow this." She showed him the chemise.  
  
Finally, Frodo wearily turned his head, looking at her with his swollen eyes only half open, obviously fighting to stay awake... but he appeared to be confused. "Spare...?" he managed in a hoarse whisper. "Never had'ny spare..."  
  
"It's all right, Frodo," Tari smiled, trying to hide her concern and starting to help the ailing hobbit into the chemise. "You've been very ill, and it's no wonder you don't remember that I changed it."  
  
"I do remember that, but..." Frodo whispered, but stopping mid-sentence, he closed his eyes, swallowing slightly, as if he was fighting against the tears again. "Sam," he continued, his voice cracking a little. "Oh, dear Sam."  
  
And suddenly Tari understood. Samwise Gamgee, the ever-loyal servant, had offered his own nightshirt to save the dignity of his master.  
  
*******  
  
Once again to Tari's relief, Frodo had agreed to drink some more of the ginger tea, and this time, he did not appear to feel as nauseated afterward. As she had lain down, he had snuggled up against her, seeking her warmth and comfort and falling asleep in her arms. But this time, Tari was unable to go back to sleep despite the fact that she still felt fatigued. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to rise, and she knew that it would not be long now...  
  
With a last effort, tightening her embrace around her charge, she tried to pour as much calm and comfort into his ailing body as she was capable of... but just as she was about to fall into a slumber, drained of all energy, she felt him stir. "Tari," she heard him saying in a soft voice. "Why did you become a messenger?"  
  
At once she snapped up from her semiconscious state, easing herself a little from her pillow. Supporting herself on her elbows, she looked at him curiously. But if he actually had been talking to her, he must have said it in his sleep... for he was breathing deeply, curled up against her, his head now resting on her chest and a peaceful expression on his sleeping face.  
  
And suddenly she realised that she was crying.  
  
*******  
  
RAP, RAP, RAP, RAP, RAP!!!  
  
*And the council is now ready to announce its decision...*  
  
Tari awoke with a start, her heart pounding hard. Looking around, she could have wept with relief when she found that she was still in her room at the Prancing Pony... not facing the court of her village. Judging from the light that was slipping in between the curtains, she must have slept late... another couple of hours to add to her delay...  
  
She eased herself up on her elbows again, looking down at her small charge, who was still sleeping with his head resting on her chest... a wet spot on her nightshirt under his mouth. Carefully reaching down, she put her hand on his forehead... yes, most definitely he still had a fever.  
  
At the same moment she realised what had woken her as the sound was repeated. A knock at the door.  
  
Carefully lifting the still-sleeping hobbit from her chest, her heart aching with pity, she placed his head on a pillow before tucking him back in. Then she rose from the bed and approached the door. "Yes?" she asked in a subdued voice.  
  
"It's just us, miss," said Nob's voice from outside. "Me and Mr. Merry..."  
  
Quickly Tari opened the door for them, wishing them good morning as she let them in, reluctant to step out into the hallway since she was still wearing her nightshirt.  
  
"We were worried about you, since we assumed you were to leave early," Merry began, before Tari even had time to open her mouth again. "And we still had not heard from you, and now it's nine o' clock in the morning... how is Frodo?"  
  
"Oh..." Tari began, deciding not to go into any details whatsoever. "He has been very ill... though he appears to be sleeping more peacefully now... and the others? How is Sam?"   
Merry smiled broadly. "Sam slept like a baby all through the night... or maybe not really, since it was his snoring that woke me up some hours ago... but as far as I know, both he and Pip are still asleep, and he has not been coughing at all."  
  
"That is good news," Tari said, and turning to Nob, she continued. "I'm afraid I have some things for you to do here."  
  
"Of course, Miss Tari," Nob smiled. "That is my job..."  
  
"Well, the tubs can wait, but there are... certain things that need to be emptied, and we could use some more water... both hot and cold... as well as some clean towels and washing cloths."  
  
Hesitating for a few moments, she paused and drew another deep breath before continuing. "And if you please could send for a healer... preferably a hobbit, if there is one. I don't think Frodo's condition is serious, but if anything can be given to ease his ailing stomach..."  
  
"I understand," Nob nodded. "As a matter of fact, I know of a very skillful hobbit lady, who lives just a few houses from here. I will send for her at once."  
  
Tari thanked him and went to get the used chamber pots herself, covering them with the pile of dirty towels.  
  
"Miss Tari, you're doing my job for me," Nob laughed.  
  
But when Tari followed them to the door again without giving them any further instructions, as if she expected them to leave, they looked at each other in surprise.  
  
"Miss Tari..." Nob began, looking very confused. "Wouldn't you like me to ask Bob to have your horse prepared?"  
  
Looking toward the bed, Tari saw that the ailing hobbit now had rolled over to her side of the bed again, his head right under her pillow, comforted by the remains of her scent and still in a deep sleep.  
  
"No..." she heard herself saying, suddenly feeling very calm." There is no need for that. Just make sure he is fed and that the stall is cleaned, and I will check on him later. For I am not going anywhere. I am staying."  
  
  
  
**To be continued....**


End file.
